At the Ceiling (by John Swain)

At the Ceiling

Moon of lights
on the dark walk
in the tall grass.
A girl in furs
with black flowers
in blonde hair.
I secured balance
in tree movement,
stars dripping.
The dogs bay
in rage at silence
and a trespass
into the fearing.
I struck with fist
at the ceiling
of this red dirt.

 

* * * *

“At the Ceiling” (c) 2013 by John Swain, from his book Rain and Gravestones (published by Crisis Chronicles Press).

John Swain of Louisville, Kentucky, is the author of several acclaimed books including White Vases (2012, Crisis Chronicles) and Ring the Sycamore Sky (2014, Red Paint Hill).

Arisen (by John Swain)

John Swain [from book cover]

Arisen

Impossible day
we placed ancestor skulls
in a limestone cave.
We left our clothes
for nails driven
into feet and eyelids
before the adoration.
Red silk and perfume
covered the tomb,
I knelt onto
our locked arms.
He crushed a locust
into honey
for the untruth of my tongue
and the rot in my groin.
I wanted another night
to live ecstatic,
I believed in songs
of hidden meaning.

* * * *

“Arisen” (c) 2012 by John Swain, from his chapbook White Vases (published by Crisis Chronicles Press).

John Swain of Louisville, Kentucky, is the author of several acclaimed books including, most recently, Rain and Gravestones (2013, Crisis Chronicles) and Ring the Sycamore Sky (2014, Red Paint Hill).