portion of the artwork for William Doreski's poem

Carnage Incarnate
William Doreski

In the lukewarm purple dark
on Main Street bar patrons
cluster and buzz on the sidewalk.
We shuffle along with shy
but absolute footfall and agree
that the spring horizon lengthens
as the gap between us widens.

Your car, parked by the theater,
glooms with inertia. The gloss
of its finish catches lamplight
preening in chemical tints.
We leave each other breathing
the collective urban bar-breath
and hope the police don’t catch us
proceeding with uneasy thoughts.

My modest apartment sighs
with ghosts shaped like the pets
I lost in childhood. Goldfish,
a turtle, a plush green parakeet.
I slam the door hard enough
to chase them into dimensions
I don’t have to brave in life.

The streetlight explores corners
of my rooms, places I never
go alone. I wish you could see
how dusty, how deeply un-
inhabited this space becomes
when I’ve stepped out for an evening.

No one’s here to understand
why I should brave the brazen streets
where the laws of physics doom me
to encounter certain force-fields
that demagnetize and render me
harmless enough to pocket
and innocent enough to discard.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 46 | Fall 2015