Night Painting | Kostas Anagnopoulos

                     I.

At this hour mind is all
Night is a closed book 
You fit its dimensions
This open book is awake 
Other books are dreaming  

Night on repeat 
Plenty of air to go around
While time passes time by 
I'm no gentleman 
Or not the kind you would expect
Not always agreeable 
Nightshade close to the root
Daily intake of vegetables 
More darkness 
The tooth is still under the pillow  

I have some delirium for the moon    
Dropping low
O
It takes up the whole frame 
Even at this distance 
You let yourself fall 
Into it 
Visiting a dream moon
But come right back 

Someone will find the universal plait  
With all the new consonants 
Unfamiliar mouths
Shooting off all at once  

	II. 
This is your stop 
They didn’t call it 
Someone keeps tying the same knot  
Around your neck
Adding an amulet  
That dream you mentioned that got bunched up in the sheets— 
Was it repulsive?  
It's okay if you can’t remember 
Maybe nothing to do with you 

	III.
Semi-precious stones
Spill out of your pockets 
Bouncing across the gymnasium floor  
You’ll need words for your pictures 
And music for the words

Now come in out of the cold 
You've had enough
You knew better
Or you know it now
There's no weather left 

	IV. 
Then the wind smacked the tops of trees 
And the roofs just for fun  
Gutters wish day laborers well 
Give them bread 
English lessons 
Bless the sewers 
Backing up in their dreams 
Outside it's biblical 
Old Mr. Moran is out there propping up the young elms  
The city can't be bothered 
Some assholes backed their ford escort into another tree 
And took off 
Why isn't that a felony? 
Ann is catching up on her watching
Lori is doing something musical 
In her studio 
Jesse looks for houses in the country for a dollar 
Carol sleeps on the floor (no pillow) 
Olympia has imagined a flying violin case 
We all meet in some place
Plus Hellenistic philosophers on a trip to Egypt 
Getting it right because they’re dead
These are facts not interpretations
Dead guys don't need to speak up   
You’re on the wrong platform 
Cross over

Now you’re cooking 
Is there a patron saint for bedbugs? 
A bright bunch 
What’s out there then again what isn't?
Lugged it between Providence and NY
Two bags of dust  

In an expensive backyard in Connecticut  
Many building blocks 
Stacked in the basement 
Get rid of them 
A voice concludes 
The word doesn’t get the attention it should  
What word?
Basement 
The base hides for good reason 
The doting sun on the other hand is hit or miss
At least for now  
Scram why don’t you 

	V. 
Women struck by arrows 
Sebastianlike 
Crisp bed sheets draped over foliage 
One pretends while the other takes her own life
Who knows why 
A pile of leaves
Leaflets 
Floating on the Taconic
They have power issues
Some arrows are just for show
The Sebastians move forward 
One full of life
Another always angry  
She’ll be left behind until she’s loved
Inescapable love 
You don’t want to miss out on her last breath 
Anger masked in pain is puzzling 
Why?
There are currently no comments.

Your words are welcome…