by John Grey
I’m by the ocean, on the beach,
body attentive to the sun’s last rays
but mind distracted by the idea of darkness
and its promised full moon.
It’s a particular kind of hunger
that nature, for all its wild beauty, cannot
I can only make footprints in sand for so long
before they turn into pawprints
and the trail leads away from the beach,
to where people live in their supposed
Horizon streaks with blood.
Streetlamps flicker on.
I’m little changed on the outside
but, for my innards,
there’s a seismic shift.
I lope more than I walk.
I growl instead of speaking.
Don't be surprised if, within the hour,
I'm at your doorstep.
It’s a different world
to what God had in mind.
Civility has gone out on the tide
and I am coming in.
John Grey is an Australian
poet, U.S. resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand,
Poetry Salzburg Review, and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Covert,
Memory Outside the Head, and Guest of Myself are available
through Amazon. Work upcoming in
and International Poetry Review.
Holtzman’s paintings and
collages have appeared in shows at various venues in
Manhattan, including the Back Fence in Greenwich Village, the Producer’s Club, the
Black Door Gallery on W. 26th St., and one other place she can’t remember,
but it was in a basement, and she was well received.