Published: 9 December 2025

The Wall

Walk with me.
Meet the wall.
The wall is the end.
Deep, dense,
charcoal melt into
rusted metal door black,

the wall is grit,
corrosion tough
enough. The wall is always
paint red, lurid until
colour peels off and it’s
only itself, black, fading
to the end of light.

The wall settles into the way
of winter, first harbinger,
the wall is the back of the
fireplace, ashes rise,
last heat, the wall falls in
collapses, show’s over.

Sky crouches, curtain fallen
an extra foot over the ground.
Sun lies crumpled script page
in the prompter’s booth. It’s
not even bleeding. Timpani pound,
horns blare down last ramparts as
warmth disappears through deceit
and larceny (as we suspected.)

Smudged wet, lying like
yesterday’s newspaper in this
near frozen gutter, autumn
departs in sheet metal days,
abandoned lot surrounded by
wall of cheap rust iron, we must
endure even this as we survey
what remains, the dying of light.

More Poetry:

Visit from the mother

Mother hummingbird,
pray perch on subtle twig of lilac,
wise to trust, or so I tell myself,
pirouette so I may admire electric green

River of paper

River of paper flows beneath my every word,
where would my thoughts be but for this substrate?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

Everyone wants to love me

Everyone wants to fall in love with me.
I know it.
The guy in the lineup
who waved the cucumber at me
and said, I could hit you with this
was really saying he loves me.

what is it you don’t get?

based on psalm 83 ”Keep not thou silence, O God” KJV
if you don’t want to talk it’s not all right by me
I would really appreciate a moment of your time
as I am listening to more hatred, than those who
hate you can raise, lousy lizard heads, how they despise you

Related

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

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