Within: Without
His black face blurs,
melting against the dark,
plate-glass window.
He told himself
he wouldn’t stagger,
Fuck,
stand up on weak knees.
His hot
molten steel,
soft skin.
Obscured memories watch him
like an eagle-eyed intruder,
the age of murder
cuts against his reflection.
He turns
one way –
a ghost releases him.
He shifts
another –
the Lord teases him
with salvation.
He studies each line
etched into his life,
a hurtful truth
emerges,
and time
smuggles
years away
like hidden treasure.
His fingers
trace against
the outline
of his forgotten youth,
half-believing he’d
find his sweetheart
smothered in rose petals.
He touches
what’s left
of himself.
His forefinger
trembling against
the face
of a woman
shimmering in
the sun,
behind him.
And like life,
she evaporates,
cutting across
his stare,
leaving him flat-footed
in despair.
A jet plane
cruises high overhead,
a black bird’s wing
flashes across
his tired soul.
He is captured.
Perhaps
it is time
to fly away
for good
and,
at long last,
meet
Jehovah of the Ghetto
