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Johanna
When you come you
are the rustle of leaves
tuning the distance,
the rhyme of songbirds
and windwhistles,
the arched rhythm
of bowing branches.
The sound of silk
sliding
to hardwood – there
is harmony to you
like the assonance
of spring song
as it serenades the
day and disappears.
In that way I wish
to make you move,
pass through you. Be
as porous,
accept and use me.
Dance.
The stretched neck
of twilight sees that paths
of evening passion
are wayward, that accidents
are afoot. There is
riot in night eyes
as sunset loosens
vision, released
and rushing outward.
Join me
in a bending
the way a falcon
slams the sky,
the way this dark propels itself
to stun the earth in heavy rattles. Like them,
I want to jar you, hurl toward you
with that dispatch,
that complete collision.
Boning the Dreamers
There is bravado at night. Faith
seems safe and simple in the dark.
Look how they swagger, how they strut
the fashion of their healing like peacocks,
fan out the blues and purples
of old bruises.
Midnight, slap them down
with your big paws.
You are the mountain lion
who walks lean and hungry,
hidden on the cement hills
of New York nights. Look how
your breath is mistaken
for the wind, your growl
for gentle subway rumbles,
your stalking eyes for stars. Look
at those lonely things they call their hearts
waiting to be swallowed. Look how
they laugh at your black mask. Take
your red meat.
Go eat the darkness
and all its crazy dreams.
Patrick Carrington was born and raised in the boroughs of New York City.
He teaches language arts and creative writing in southern New Jersey and lives on
a secluded beach with his wife and the ocean they love. His poetry has appeared
or is forthcoming in various print journals, including Epicenter, Willard & Maple,
Bardsong, Poetry Motel, and Clark Street Review, and on-line at Carnelian, Thieves Jargon,
Clean Sheets and mannequin envy.
Email: Patrick Carrington
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