Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Bells And Balls

I can’t slow down.
There is always one more bill,
one more dog spirit
limping along
into my life.
The lover
returning
to the hall.
The bent ceiling
burying the small red wound.
The ghost ravaged by the butterfly.
One could think of nightgowns
and scarves
eye color blue
with lips as thin as
tribal fingers.
And so it goes.
I wrote no diary
two years ago
but the blood still flowed
and pennies piled up
along windowsills
like bird droppings.
Can you see them?
Bells and balls
and satin cushions.
The colors of Christmas
not people.
Everywhere we looked.
Mistletoe
and fruit
spread out like glitter
blinding our eyes
like Oedipus,
to the tyranny
of now.
And what for?
War?
War kills fish
and brothers
and hands.
war is an airport
stopping for traffic lights
and rain.
Time is here now
lying on your bed.
There is no one else
holding up the dead dog's paw.