three poems by leo stillinger

Old Bones

You disease me.
In a desert cave, you hold me
towards the light, and it blinds me
Which is just what you want.

In the flames of our living room,
you steal my skeleton,
and leave my empty skin to
a pack of wolves, or the wind

The sun falls and spins.
You cry as you lose your starkness, and
I think of these things you have given me;
these spots of blood you’ve left on my brain.
 
 
Midnight Highway

Radio flickers
mountains hide cities
lonely seas of cars

Under a half moon,
the mountains
give way to
the cities

As the highway lights
like disembodied ghosts
deliver me home.
 
 
Starry Night, Wicked Sky

I. (Sky)

It is happening, our saints are
falling down, until they are just
statues on the Earth, desolate lighthouses,
waterfalls of fading stars.
We could not have planned for this,
under campfires, abandoned planes,
but now it is upon us we know nothing
but to fight, survive, write. The empty
cars decaying like gravestones,
until sunrise when they are
just empty cars; the old
monsters crying in
the remains of
their homes,
weeping
like
the childish strangers they destroyed when they were kings of the world.

II. (Stars)

It is happening, our saints are
falling down, until they are just
statues on the Earth, desolate lighthouses,
waterfalls of fading stars.
We could not have planned for this,
under campfires, abandoned planes,
but now it is upon us we know nothing
but to fight, survive, write. The empty
cars decaying like gravestones,
until sunrise when they are
just empty cars; the old
monsters crying in
the remains of
their homes,
weeping
like
the childish strangers they destroyed when they were kings of the world.
 
 
Leo Stillinger is a sad dog but sometimes he is happy too. He lives at leostillinger.zzl.org.

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