By Laura Theis
I am lost
to the sadness of the gods
those dear jesters
who aren’t used to denying or restricting themselves
whose skull-like heads
might throw up on
any one of us
at any minute
on a corroding bridge over
an undecided river
beneath the stony glow
of a vanity moon
I am lost
to this dolorous city
hidden high above the night sky
gifted but useless the gods
continue their endless
forging and forging of nebulas
foxes flicker in dark corners
like dogs that only belong
to themselves
one shares a sorrow
with the street lamps
life is
pelting past
like
invisible
rain
the night has teeth
the night is where
good things go
to avoid getting discovered