night poems

light me up like a saint on the russian orthodox church

feels like minus twenty with the wind chill

and i’m like shit between clenched teeth

it’s exactly 6:41pm on a mid-March night

and your eyes are full of the way the light hits the top two-thirds of the buildings

bitten all over by the screensaver blue of the sky

and you say, agog, it’s sort of like worship

i think i understand

how they used to believe so hard

and i say, sorry

for blaspheming in church

best wishes

i hope

you have

been doing well.

i hope you have not suffered

for too long by my hand.

i hope the side of the road

i left you on

is soft with grass and mossy bed

not gravel to bite your skin—

i can’t remember—

the streetlights made strange spots in the blue

my periphery was

shot

i can’t even remember

my hands on the wheel

what turns i made

to get the hell out of

that place.

the kind of place

you might hit a deer

on a hairpin turn

if you’re incautious.

anyway.

i hope you’re well.