Harmonic Diversion

on St. Massacre’s Day

Saturday night is the loneliest night
except for Sunday night
I mean there’s room in there for all the dead
even when they don’t show up
thirty degrees sideways & panasonic
like the gong-effect in a doppler profile

You can always blink & miss it
because it hurts
just a few dark syllables from where
all this was rationalized into silk

tipping shadows in your wake
the other end of dreams
moist lips press stained glass
begging if you want me to look