Joseph Gant

Tuning

it is times like this, when the rising

occurs, when lithium sweeps all monsters

from underneath all beds– it is

times like these and me feeling nothing

but a recollection of a memory. faded

blue jeans and a shoe-lace dream.

I lose perspective, pieces on the board,

pieces of a time when the mind burned

hot though every brink it knew grew cold.

there is dirge and there is eulogy in passing

of the night and all her guiles.

she had 6 o’clock news-time eyes,

she had nothing left to broadcast.

but we get poor reception anyway.