In the Mesh of Night
Shadow Liberty / John Barnes

This flesh bound coil sifts ashes from the night
that choke in dusty silence on my tongue
and caterpillar feet tread spores into my skin
a dark and blooming mushroom expanding
up to your moon in indigo relief
bright miasma seeding the stuffy room.
Wounded eyes observe the yellow filaments
hanging from the sky–crackling with sparks
stitching the moments like car horns on
Broadway in the cross-town rush
or soft as your bosom in the bed next to me
as I trace constellations on your alabaster skin.