By Brad Rose
Gravity is neither human nor animal, so close to the ground, it frightens the trees. Those clouds, lawless, out of control, like school children who aced the test.
I slacken now, into sleep’s box canyon. It’s fun at first, but its theme is damnation. Even if you give it the benefit of the doubt, it’s hard to get that bullet back into the barrel.
Burned bones buried in numerical order, cool dusk quiet as stars, until I startle, punching air, screaming like a rip saw.
But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won’t confess, until I’m dead.
Brad Rose is the author of a collection of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015.) His new book of poems, Momentary Turbulence, is forthcoming from Cervena Barva Press.