Matthew Kaler

Habit fixes our mind’s entirely
               slippery button.

*

Wolves clawing the door.
I turn my lock on you
in a private rain.

*

How clandestinely
the laughing thrush
alights on razor wire.

*

An old woman crying
          brandishes a broomstick sheepishly.

*

Summers also elapse
          into anonymous stirring
a blue dress in flame.

*

Brittle howls swelling

     as time wells up the lungs.

*

Name me for the profane
dusk flickering of bats.

*

The carnal mind thinks itself something
when it is something.

*

Alone in a single bed
your prayer
blooms against a long mirror.
Light shattering the walls.

Posted 05/19/10