Impossibility has the sharpest teeth
as though a beast unseen within a
forest; we turn away and give
chase to our thickening disease called
fear and the largest of life’s milestones
are as dust spread across a desert.
And at night while the moon is hiding
her light, thoughts-into-words come
out of the darkest corners while the
clock’s second-hand grinds and goes
grinding; ten fingers cannot hide an
expression of helplessness and disgust
and two palms protect a jawbone made of
glass.
A branch dancing against the wind;
as a long bony fingernail it scraps
the outside bedroom wall,
a mote of dust now weighs a ton
and comes to rest upon your chest,
night-noises have died and then
they come.
The falling darkness as a gush of wind
encases fragments of time as an amber-tomb.
into the forest;
and out of your body into that black odor
called fear.
:: 05-03-2018 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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