Poetry

Stares down, the grey
moon, fixedly,
in naked aggression…
Fire and brimstone.
I move one step, towards you. In semidarkness
I have lost the address
of peace.

The transgender, stumps
the ghost. There was no noun,
no pronoun, only an abstract
feel. Do you see the
wooly trail beating the dust?

When did you hit the dirt road
not to come back…
What was undone? After
the death of the cuckoo, there was
no wedlock in words.