by Sam Barbee
snubbed x-mas trees by the curb
red & green sweaters bagged
a cemetery folds away a history
I listen … ? finger-snap:
no tremor lambent buffers
will all break apart shatter
autonomous in bottom of nightcap's glass
no interest in polite brunch;
deep gulp intinction in the confessional
open palm beyond the curtain
waning moon argues until
exhaustion midnight lost;
lunar sigh and I sense no warmth
darkness lulls longs for night’s
downy rhythms hold your heartbeat
never again in the belly;
never again happy or home sick
like a cast stone never feels
without anticipation
of second grasp then denial;
senses quiver moonlit suffering
silvered kiss silvered terms
stasis imitates life old maps
a cramp nears dark night stays.
***
Sam Barbee has a new poetry collection, Apertures of Voluptuous Force (2022, Redhawk Publishing). He has three previous collections, including That Rain We Needed (2016, Press 53), a nominee for the Roanoke-Chowan Award as one of North Carolina’s best poetry collections of 2016. Also, Uncommon Book of Prayer (2021, Main Street Rag) which chronicles family travels in England. His poems have appeared recently in Poetry South, Salvation South, The Ekfrastic Review and upcoming in Cave Wall, among others; plus on-line journals Dead Mule School of Literature, Streetlight Magazine, American Diversity Report, Grand Little Things, and Medusa’s Kitchen.