.
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Stacked Coffins
1
On the hour,
assistants gave
schoolchildren
tours of the silent
woods,
the leaves bullet-
shredded and prone
to melancholy.
I hoped I wasn’t
where I thought I was.
2
Chandelier flares,
their fall slowed
by parachutes,
light up the ashes.
The gray car
with the gray men
comes almost
every day.
3
Clear skies
and a bomber’s
moon.
We look at one another
with the mute despair
that has become
a kind of greeting.
Bio:
Howie Good is the author a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, as well as 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently, Hello, Darkness, available from Deadly Chaps. He blogs at http://apocalypsemambo.blogspot.com/.
(author retains copyright)
.
Stacked Coffins
1
On the hour,
assistants gave
schoolchildren
tours of the silent
woods,
the leaves bullet-
shredded and prone
to melancholy.
I hoped I wasn’t
where I thought I was.
2
Chandelier flares,
their fall slowed
by parachutes,
light up the ashes.
The gray car
with the gray men
comes almost
every day.
3
Clear skies
and a bomber’s
moon.
We look at one another
with the mute despair
that has become
a kind of greeting.
Bio:
Howie Good is the author a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, as well as 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently, Hello, Darkness, available from Deadly Chaps. He blogs at http://apocalypsemambo.blogspot.com/.
(author retains copyright)
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