wrath because

by David N. Menzies

comets don’t lose the sun,
and moths do   when the stars spread
beyond their own spilling, and become
the sun’s plastered apparition   faint
worlds still fool the undead particles
chance would not embed—
                               put in sums enough
to feel the ghost’s touch and not fade
away on belts beneath worsted . . .

even the would-be-designer’s stitch;
there is such potential there
for moths

flip the sky wings fall from
and frozen atoms drift into the reach
of holes   lean into simmering tilts
that mean to pull along          wings,
never knew a brightness so intense

when red ashes cool across the sky

there is no time to look around
outside               the tail beckons,
and earth’s slant is in the way

              let the ripple be
              that can counter rage

’cause here it comes

Copyright © 2005, David N. Menzies

David N. Menzies has most recently had poetry published in Erbacce and Subjective Substance.