through lace and glass,
from auras of pulsing stars.
trembling leaves or naked branches,
depending on the season.

grim masked monsters.
The toothed, the clawed. The heavy jawed.
Mistakes in nightmare shapes
as they skate across cerebral ice.

Stark in recall, all the hurdles I have jumped
and all of them that washed my face.
The mud the muck,
disgrace, loss of face and driving traces.

the spectres of the taken,
opportunity, divinity, loss in each pitch and toss
Gloss and dross combined.
Summon them from silver skies, and ink blue nights

Summon all to a conscience, not inclined to sleep.
So that they can be held high to the glare,
then be set aside for keeps.

-Dave Kavanagh

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s