David Dill: Two Poems

tookerm —  February 8, 2012 — Leave a comment

Five A.M. Blues.

It is the type of madness that can only come
when an ice truck scrapes away
the last hours of sleep
which turns out not to matter

university hours are
postponed.

You take to the computer,
smoke your last cigarette
promising yourself it will be your last
before smoking a half shorted butt
as you watch Factotum

remembering that Bukowski said it all first
but that he had a habit of repeating himself
so you forget that Bukowski said it all first
and write yourself
into existence.

 

Adrift

NGC 5555 sighed quasar. Another star core slipped past her centers event horizon. She tasted paradox. Dark matter creaked in the space within her arms.

* * *

All her sisters were red shifting. Time created space between them. She cried supernovas. None would be left to hear her pain.

* * *

Birth pained her. It leeched her gases into glowing brilliance. She knew someday they would die. She would remain. Eventually she would eat all the matter they cast off in their deaths. Eventually she would be entirely alone.

* * *

Something was growing larger. A shape in the void. Another spiral? A globular elliptical? An old one made beautiful by its flawed shape? Time would create a closing of space. She would know.

* * *

Another spiral! One of her sisters. Large, more than 300 billion. What would they talk about? How close would they pass? She giggled red giants.

* * *

They would touch! To feel another. What would it feel like? Would it tickle? Would it sting? Would it be love?

* * *

So close. She yearned to stretch across emptiness and draw her in. But the other had said nothing. She would say something. She would.

* * *

Pain.. Arm broken, stretched awkward into the void. Her insides were filled. The other was too big. She was losing mass. She was being consumed. She didn’t want to be consumed. She was afraid to be consumed.

* * *

Her insides were displaced. Viscous dust trailed her fleeing sister. She hadn’t said a word. She hadn’t said a single word. There was no filling the voids. This new emptiness would always exist, reminding her of the pain. She wept brown dwarfs.

* * *

A new life. Conceived from the matter exchange. Another reminder. A G type yellow. A system of variety. A blue egg.

* * *

She smiles evolution. The child brings life in its wake. Rests, cradled it in her reformed arm. Time creates voice. They speak to her. They call to be heard. She listens.

 

David Dill is a Masters of Arts in Education Secondary English, which is a fancy way of saying he has gone to Arcadia University to become a High School English Teacher. His poetry does not reflect this. It focuses on dreams, love, and the beauty that pierces through the darkness of life. As a co-founder of Obsession Literary Magazine, he has an excuse to proclaim himself a slight influence in the literary world as opposed to simply being an unpublished poet.

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