Sunday, March 20, 2016

DB Cox- Two Poems


irretrievable things
--- for Caylee Marie Anthony

unknowable
dark places
behind
counterfeit eyes
the black hole
of a tangled mind
ticking time--
truth gets lost
in a prime time
legal extravaganza
a young mother walks
tonight--
the sun sets
behind a florida
stillwater swamp
a rotting yellow ribbon
of police tape
flutters
in a cypress tree
a sleepless whip-poor-will
sings his favorite lullaby
a tiny ghost
sleeps in the rain
& dreams
of irretrievable things


The Hole

i stand at the edge
& look down into the hole
a voracious void
expanding
like the feeding vacuole of an amoeba
a forever-busy mouth
seeking to fill its nothingness

shadows of objects
gathered for sacrifice
lean out
from every corner of the room
& disappear into the breach
where they are sucked dry
emptied out
rendered invisible

i linger here
marooned in my brain
no finger of god
reaches out to touch my hand
i am dislocated
detached
from any coordinate
in space and time
any feelings i have
are imagined
i have become
a fiction of myself

i am dizzy from spinning
on this wheel
of endless diversions
in the “pursuit of happiness”
“to be or not to be”
has become a real choice
i have exhausted
all “to be” possibilities
by the least painful methods
drugs
alcohol
women
books
music
religion

not to be

i lean out over the hole
& let myself go
for a second
i feel as if i am hovering
but i know i am falling

time is lost

with no references
i have no perception
of body position
i have become the dark.

at times
i seem to be on the verge
of some vital discovery
but when i try
to verbalize
scattered thoughts
the words die

swallowed by the vacuum

some force
pulls at me constantly
i feel i am being eaten away
soon i will vanish
this arcane “machine of want”
will crave no more

i have lost all faith
in the notion of an “ending”

to get to the bottom
of this hole was my only goal
to understand this emptiness
my only hope for salvation

now i’m certain that i’ll never see
if i’m inside the hole
or the hole is inside of me

1 comment:

  1. Maybe the best thing sbout "Dead Snakes" is just how fast a poem rolls off the page into oblivion. I like that. A comment on human life--train kept a rollin all night long...

    ReplyDelete