November 4

November 4, 2015
by C
comments 15
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Sirens all night, unrepealable.
Why does it seem to get late all at once?

This is still the hour of doors
and muffled stairs, which cedes

to the hour of the lonely cars.
Somewhere in here

the static gets sharp,
the night grows teeth,

and alone takes on a tomb-like flavor–
some dull wine that’s either cheap

or gone sour– uncertainty
exerting its effect

on a volatile moment,
but really,

there can only be
so many false alarms–

 

 

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