Submissions by Kelly_Morrison

When a demon is dry-hacking in the night
on the moor

As a rabbit squeals and dies in the mouth
of a fox
 
And the clock chimes three just before a neighbor  
starts calling his dog
 
And something awful drags you out of your sleep
to make a cut across your heart
 
That is the time to put your slippers on
and begin to write
 
 

She was planting potatoes in the rain,
on some lock-smirch
plot of land

Her sleeves were rolled-up to her shoulders
wet with mud
and her wellies were filled with earth

Eighteen days later when she began to cough
by the bot-belly stove
the sprouts of her work broke the surface

She had timed it right

Sometimes I just need to
dissolve myself
in music,

to reconstitute myself again.

To keep
the arrow pointing forward.

To keep the gauges pegged, and the gas pedal
fully throttled.

To keep
the old dreams – fluttering and aloft.

As wings get pierced
with flak

from the world below.