Poem of the Month

Tired

 

1

 

Comes from nowhere, this swaybacking jar,

breaking cords. Tipped over puppet—you can

hear, murmuring, a voice that lives

in the house of intentions

and opens the front door to darkness,

stepping out and into it

to announce a never-will. Tired

of me, tired of me tired

of you—attired in urgency,

tires spinning.

 

 

2

 

When you stopped,

the world didn't.

If you steer yourself in the current,

perhaps you can ride

the vortices.

If you can't, get ready

to get

sucked down.

 

 

3

 

Silence in the house.

Outside the closed window, leaves

wheel and exchange words.