Issue
#2

March
2009 

2 poems by James H. Duncan

Never worse off alone

the dryer creaks a rattling story through the floorboards
as the finish-line banner flutters to a gentle pile of failure

curling quiet in the hallway that leads to the worn mattress in the corner
that mattress, the same one that saw all those silk unspeakables

there are no curtains on the window to hide the mattress from the moon
no pillows to support the nightmares or hide the broken teeth

the dryer buzzer doesn’t work; there's just a sudden shift to silence
and out the window--the clearest star-sick sky in years

no cloud dares to block the view of the rankled bedsheets begging slipping
pulling askew from the corners, revealing the raw floral mattress beneath

and the clothes, they wait, knowing they'll have another useless spin
in the morning when dawn looks in on the carnage of the night

the moon may have all hopes and dreams bottled up like wine
but the lucky don't know what they have until they see it in the sun

© James H. Duncan

 

I will hang up when I do

slow down and hurt
he says
as the room burns blue

a soft menagerie of morning shadows
seeping across wood floor reality
--the feeling of feeling again

he'd listen to the rapid pacing
of nervous eyes against
the silken pillow
if only he knew it would change
her mind

she is already gone
he says
as he watches her wake

© James H. Duncan

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