Three Poems
poem 1:Voices
his hands
move devastating; fluid - responsible for nothing.
delicate, with fire for fingers, he held my shoulder:
calling my name in the deserted street; holding me so tightly and
calling my
name… the silver streetlight reflecting off the rain-glaze… he can
see my
soul, hazy, for he touches me with fingers like wet sand… I could
talk to him
for ever, and he would never hear my words, for his language is
transient and
only in action. I can see his eyes, but they are of silence only,
and his
ghost-silver irises are dazzling like fireflies.
he speaks for a nation of emptiness.
poem 2:A moment in a sandstorm
Plunder my desire, I said _ steal my soul -
Terrify me.
Silence me.
Lay waste, among black roses.
You nodded, secret, and held my fingertips.
poem 3:fury
Yesterday he wrote his name on my back,
Dangerous and sinister, he made me turn to face him, to
trace it again on my cracked and open lips -
calling to me, thunderous and luminous,
I couldn't help but notice him.
Jess McCabe
If you've any comments on these poems, Jess McCabe would be
pleased to hear from you.
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