Dark Matter

No is an eight foot chainlink fence with razor wire

you’d die of thirst crossing that desert

a nest of tangled hangers assembled by crows

touches the wrong thing sparks fly up

vast areas of city going dark

there is five times as much no in the universe as yes

getting bigger, denser, carrying more charge

I can learn to breathe no it’s like breathing underwater

I opened the curtains the clouds spelled out a huge no

it pulls away from the station as you run panting

down the platform waving your useless ticket

Published in Crab Creek Review