What If There Are No Lovers Left After the Next Holocaust, & All Our Demons Rise Up Out of Our Bodies, & Our Flesh Needs to Learn How to Be Human All Over Again?

by Poetry

Two students of extinction; stumbling
directionless in the dark; hands reach –
the graze of skin – not warm, or cold,

/one is deaf +
                       one is mute /

the world blinds them,
in dark halls behind
only their sins are there
to guide the way;

they learned to study their sins; dissecting
intimately with dulled memories; one
could not hear the screams – the other
could not scream
         at all

/ one tastes +
                       one is tasteless /

both are starving – one considers
consuming their sins, the other
knows how bitter they are to
the starving;
                      saltwater to a woman
dying in a drought.

Two students of Extinction; feeling
themselves in the other; more alone
when there are other universes

/ one has a stronger universe +
                                                    one is an unexploded star /

Both are victims of their delusions – one
drinks the darkness, gets drink-drunk; gone,
the other sleeps in black waters with
their mouth locked
their mouth barred,
                                                         no prisons in the dark – no bars,
no guilt & locks,
no preachers & stones,
no nuns & no steel.

They share their dreams apart; tearing
open only old wounds; no fresh scars
on the perfect – no fresh scars, now, on

               / one is desperate to live +
                                                            one is desperate to die /

they move, desperate to be apart;
one is desperate to love, unconditionally;
the other – desperate to be loved,
in a courtroom as the judge’s
hammer plays;
                           no confessional booth
in the dark – no slow footsteps & no,
no crooked wheel come to save no souls;
in the dark;

/ one has no home +
                                  one is never going back /

Two students of extinction
failing to understand
how one little rock
could cause so much
& mean so little

Free eBooks

modern poetry
Carey Poet

On Passion

Mightn’t it make more sense to spill my passions out upon the floor, Than direct it in meaningless frustration at these hollow keys, And the clicking clatter of their tombstone impact upon the white-page door – To ignore the lure of life’s great, dreadful typewriting...

Local Politics (Dream 9)

Sinister bloody sexless thing blowing out of Market Street with a red ridden burlap sack and a blood iron hood – a sexless thing, I said, from the depths of darkest spring sidling up the side streets with a swing in his thigh obsessed thighs. Sidling into men, don’t...

On Creation

Budding flowers of asphalt roads birthed from cracks/ stretch out impossibly smoothancient creature awoken/the limping pace of my motion/ nervous system’s tax/to walk ancient and pristine paths/ignorant living and the dead things’ wrath/see the midway minds of a...


You’re in my fingers and I can’t get you out; I can smell you. Warm & wet & dreaming - every time I push a key, you come curling out smoke in good light given form – not human, something else; an angel, if I believed in angels; a devil if I could believe sin...