Rust in Light and Who We Are

30 May


Rust in Light and Who We Are


Even though I do not believe in it

pray for me


in a few hours

I’m going to have to return

as a prisoner

to her.

She won’t be kind to me

I know it

she never was before.

She listened to my poetry

but each time

after every verse recited

she felt it less and less

but always found something clever to respond with.

It will be dusk

moonshine in the bathtub turning into night

I’ll shake and shiver like a cockcrow heavy glass  

and worry about knocking on her door

which I know she’ll answer

wearing nothing but one of my old shirts

buttoned across her heart

and young breasts that sit as wisely as monks

weary and waiting to walk Elysian Fields.


She’ll laugh when asking where I’ve been.


The only son of daydreams

hiding from any resemblance

like a child does from a bedtime

I’ll reply

that I was cruising through the past

screaming across the span of emptiness

that drew a breath

the first time I found

the taste that was her lips.

She’ll lead me to her bed

and watch as I undress

she’ll make me feel golden

for an hour

for a day

for a brief lifetime in a ragged book or two

and then

there’ll be nothing more

but a faint afterglow colored amber

an early parole

into a newly unrecognizable terrene

which remembers every timid silence in its earth

and wonders out loud

why is it I blush?


Leave a Reply

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

Copyright © 2010 - 2018 All Rights Reserved.