They say Cancer is a water-sign
That it is a mutable thing
And cleansing
and that it can fill any body that it meets with
Many feelings,
swirling typhoons
Like tea leaves
and chemical spills
Somewhere below the heart,
They said.

Cancer hangs in the dome of night,
Between the 90th and 120th degree
Where the sky floats like lithium on the tongue
Playing pick-me-ups with the other alkaline metals
Testing every possible reaction
So that one day another might have
What we lost.

Cancer holds a spirit in its claw
So that in the dead summer heat I can still see
A lovely winter leftover weather
You always hoped you'd leave for me

Sometimes I now look around
at night,
watching these celestial compositions flicker like
ancient candles, blues and reds and yellows.
I wonder what your tiny stars shelter, all those light-years away.
How beautiful you look to my unknowing eyes,
Burning violently, silently
In darkness, dying.

birds take flight on a windowless night

but the crows

continue to gather

nosy beaked

wings, oil-streaked

they have no business among us

watching our eyes

laughter

silences our lies

and the den grows quieter

faster

without the heat

stalking pointed feet

one falls prey 

after another

stolen eyes

long gone dry

the widow reaches for her master

gun in hand

sleeping sand

the crows do finally scatter

Toothless it whispers
And tells me stories grim
It's a black cat with crooked whiskers
Scratching, beckoning, let it in

It lurks in the darkness of shadows
In cool whisps of the night
It hovers, and in absence grows
It's the calm, just before a fright

I am defaulted,
For I seek congruity
Of heinous hums that stifle my scream;
At night when the gloom falls under my pillows,
Crawling beneath to cloister itself around the iridescence
From a light, it never shone
I am defeated
By those shall be bound to defy;
Shall see the hues of tomorrow, the cues of a spectrum merged within itself.
Darkness quaffs down the chaos sleeping on the tip of my tongue,
Attenuating a minute of clarity:
Privy to those whose scream echoes within tangled sheets and stuffed mats:
Screeches, as if a knell,behind the murmur of the room..

feeling the walls close in
the cold consuming your very soul
distant and cold
refusing any comfort
why are you still here?
who made your self worth so low?
the cracks between your aching heart
can't take another blow
the haunting
the lonely
the wonderers of night
causing fright
tear yourself apart
let your insides rot
fragile creature
terrified of the night.

Sometimes it's almost frightening,
daunting
to come here and see
all the beautiful poems,
all the poets
who are so much better
than me...
I have so much admiration
so much awe
that sometimes I wonder
why I try to write at all,
but now and then
I'll come back here
and do my best to pen, to write
and hope I can overcome
my sense of fright...

Who turned out the lights?
Who’s frightened again at night?
Searching for undeniable proof
To clarify the scary truth.

Noises and voices you hear,
Coldness you feel near;
Ice kisses on your cheeks,
Across your skin – fire streaks.

Who turned out the lights?
Who walks alone during the night?
Seeing things that aren’t there;
Dying out of pure despair.