Sad Little Monsters

Writing poems you’ll never read
is the only way I can speak to you anymore

yet there was a time
when those who mete out slivers of grace
upon the world like occasional rain

spoke our names with a certain fondness

but at some point mercy had other things to do

and they rounded up all the soft things
and spirited them to someplace cold

and burned every map that could ever take us back
to all the pretty things we said

and these days the sad little monsters we sometimes
call our hearts
keep us from sleep with their lonely stirrings
and strange desires

though we drown them like kittens
again and again

the stars will fall and the moon
will break its promises

but honey let’s not squander our sorrow
all in one place

it’s early yet and the night
has more to say.



* * * * *

William Taylor Jr. lives and writes in the Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco. Broken When We Got Here, his latest book of poetry, and An Age of Monsters, his first collection of fiction, are both available from Epic Rites Press. The Blood of a Tourist, a book of new poems, will be published in early 2014 by Sunnyoutside Press. He was a recipient of the 2013 Acker Award.

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