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
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.