Poem: Night Fog

This was published long ago, 2002, in a journal named Diner, which is one of my favorite journals of all time. My style was a bit different then. The themes remain. There were two editors at Diner then, I think their names were Eve and Abbey. I'm just not sure.

 

Best To All,

 

Owl

 

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Night Fog

my feet were scum on a lake of the obscure,

my sounds tripled in a cricketless silence.

heartbeat, nostrils, rustles of wool, all profane.

visceral, obvious, pathetic, selfish.

i waited for god to console me and

having frozen, felt my soles begin to root.

my knuckles branch.  my nape

congeal toward an acorn.

no god came.  no sign.

a car shot by like a black squid.

glowing white inky propulsion.

tentacles that splintered off shrubs.

somewhere dog squeals became sudden,

tore each others' decibels

until one lacerated the many

into a decree.

no god came.

i thought they were Athena's owls,

then i thought the Norns, but actually

when the chill cut my newfound legs,

only three lighthouses with cyclops eyes,

three pimples on three butts of land,

cordoning importance around White people.

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