The night was the dark tip of a billy club
in the orbital of your eye,

the skies above your eyelid darkened
and silence like a hyena,
ill-humored and stale,
took over the relaxed mouth of
mother earth (the horizon) reclining
on the couch of the universe
kicked back with a carton of cigarettes
chainsmoking a sunset to its grave

her swallowing the sun every night;
it gave you the shivers like stupid tradition

jolting towards convention

retention
of all the rates of those dead before you

asleep in different arrhythmias

guardian angels dancing peaks on their EKG�s.



�2005 by Paul Adrian Mabelis