Mon
Nov
22
in the time of light cutting
at the time of light cutting,
when the reddening sun slips away after
brightening the eastern sky
pain twists like a sharpened screw.
it is evening they say,
those deluded ones
whose only virtue is jasmine blooming.
but the darkening sky is of no great help—
for evening is a wild expanding dawn
when the sirens roar
and the smell of grilled meat rises from the taco shops
that line the mottled streets of this palm fringed town.
no.
the night that wounds your eyes is one long day
for the ones who have no one.
