this chain that quickens into its continuing. by Bridget Boylan

WE continue to kill / and cradle each other / trying to contain a / dwindling warmth / in our casings— / it was a few nights ago but it always is / over exposed in your flood light // I am always drowning / washed out and confused in your pew / (a sinner) / in the hands of an angry lover
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At My Banquet
The ice sculpture’s melting down at my banquet,
my cavalier’s sword’s become just a dirk,
and each of us are laying bets on the precise time
there’ll be only a puddle left on the floor.

Recently Unemployed

His days marched in place
days like tin soldiers each one
pushing the next aside.

Hurry, hurry before it is too late...
inside a gaping hole to be filled.

i was just really lonely
and you were nice
is it usually different?
i don’t know a lot about romance
why’d you stop being nice?

A train
slick and dark
Chicago bound

racing the dawn
through cities
picked out like stars,

figured with ghostly faces
wrapped in light
and rain.