In my dreams, I am blissful. Eyes
pressed to the moon like windows
crafted to shine brightly
in the Manhattan sky. Birthed
in a garden of light. Amber hallways.
Held tenderly by the dying sun.
But my tongue is always a monarch
of grief. A ghost in white leather
gloves, fingers pressed in frozen yellow
fire. Mouth full of sharp teeth and blood.
How I am taken with want. An apathetic heart
crippled by an ugly restlessness.
My breath weak. Bitter salt setting
in my bones. An ocean of granite,
a break in the curtains, as I find myself
buried in a concrete tomb.
NOTE: All words used in this poem taken from the album Sunbather by Deafheaven.
William James is a poet, aging punk rocker, and train enthusiast from Manchester, New Hampshire. He’s a contributing editor for Drunk In A Midnight Choir and the author of rebel hearts & restless ghosts (Timber Mouse Publishing). Follow him on Twitter @thebilljim or at www.williamjamespoetry.com.