Misdirection, by Dah

By Dah

Sometimes the gray sun
is like dry rain
other times an old bone

Sometimes there is a whisper
from the inner-ear, a drag
of words announcing a profusion
of discontent

There are times I wear sadness
like deep sleep
so rising into the day
creates a storm that places its mouth
over my ears
and blows cold wind
to produce a melodramatic silence

Some days I hold tightly
to the quiet that surrounds me
and listen to the dead
for they have much to say
about unfinished lives

Beneath the fog’s tarp
the moisture is a wet parachute
undulating in the air
and the light’s eye
has rolled back into its skull

Sometimes I ask out loud
What is the point?
but my thoughts are
discombobulated, misdirected

and I wait for a voice to answer
but there are so many
that I cannot separate them
yet, somebody inside knows who I am
and keeps laughing and laughing

Dah is the author of three books of poetry from Stillpoint Books. His fourth book, The Translator, will be published by Transcendent Zero Press in the summer of 2015. Dah lives in Berkeley, California, and is working on the manuscripts for his fifth and sixth poetry collections. He blogs at Words Of Dahlusion.


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