Stop

When the living takes the magic
When the wind swallows the storm
When the fire dies in the twilight

and I stop
And the sky seems open wide to me—
a cavern to fall into or
a parachute I'm hanging from

There are noises
There are moments
There is something in between
I look but cannot see
I listen but cannot hear

When the writing takes the words
When the hunger takes the food
When all that's left in this darkness is light

And I stop 

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Poetry

Good Boys by Megan Fernandes

Experiential poems, thick with place and introspection. Last lines I highlighted (from “While I Keep Making the Room Brighter”):

while I keep making the room brighter

you search for that inch

of shadow

in which to conceal the silhouettes

of men

or nightmares

Not Poetry

The Herbert Huncke Reader edited by Benjamin G. Schafer

Herbert Huncke was the New York denizen of the 1930s and 40s that the Beats used as muse in the 1950s and 60s, and these are the journals he wrote himself. Last lines I highlighted (from “Elsie John”):

His voice was rather low and pleasant with a slight accent which gave everything he said a meaning of its own.

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