I stood under a spider’s web
in the banquet to a night sky,
the whistles of the ghostly dead
poured into my third eye.
Time’s watchmaker
stood above me
collecting the precious seconds,
shrugging off the voice of decree
where moonlight’s tenor beckons.
Running on hot coals vines and loose boulders
to the flaky gate of the devil’s grin,
I chased the day shadows down a grass altar
onto a savage path of ghostly twins.
I pass the jaw of a fallen tree
where I sat down to heal my wounds of war
inside the eye where a child can only see,
I wiped the blood off my wooden sword.
POEMS WRITTEN BY MJ DUGGAN.
