Hallway Water {poem}

tall heavy fog

quiet language blinking from smoke and berried lips 

on the floor, bottles of bleach

terrible clapping from inside the middle school auditorium

dry prosthetic hands swinging at each other

punching plastic flesh, dull soft macabre machines

twisting their eyes

so much like hungry fish casting through the cold deep ocean water

the world asks so little for our death

but 

midnight's problem

is the back seat of a 1977 Lincoln Continental

midnight's problem

is the unopened eyeliner pen on the attic floor

midnight's problem

is the fabulous laughter coming from the dark corner of the bar

there shouldn't be

but there is

and it's leaking awful and fast 

we speak of legs and silhouettes

from angel-girl? a whisper? or a prayer?

we speak of gods and guns

killing while we pray

the world asks so little for our death