738 Readings | 4 Ratings

The Ends

I want to be a holier man than I am
now. I try nothing to make sure there is one
& when

there are lights at the ends of all tunnels
I know.

I am a bucket in this kingdom
of tears. Love never fills me
so I pour myself out
over & over again.
My lovers are fences I’ve
gotten over or climbed through.
Death puts X’s
on the trees destined to be cut down.

In the rustle of guns,
bullets flew from their nests
& perched in my branches.

All limbs were laid
to their sides. The hands of time rested upon
themselves. Things are different now.

When strangers come,
a knock on the door is but a whisper
of knuckles. The clapper of the bell meets

its other hand. Reach–
this hand is for giving.

I damn near bite my tongue
clean off. There are things
like bugs crawling up a stalk

& things go in & out of you
& that is it.
Posted 02/01/10
This poem was published in "Washington Square Review" in their Summer / Fall '09 issue.
Comments (1)
Quite the closing stanzas. Heart.
05/16/10 9:52pm