By: Ace Boggess | Posted on: Summer 2019
Gray falls heavy on the Starbucks lot,
silver Mustang wobbling to its space,
pseudo creek bed of scattered rocks
fenced by iron bars as if imprisoned.
Concrete froths & churns. On islands,
saplings bend necks against a beating.
Outlines of hotel & bridge beyond
resemble pencil sketches framed in smoke.
This is Friday, & today it rains,
reaching the point in a Sorites
when the hypothetical bucket of paint
leans toward neither black nor white.
Oh, haze of cooling drowning, welcome.
Welcome, destroyer & life bringer.
Let stains saturate this page, darkening
all the knowable words, the world.
Ace Boggess is the author of four books of poetry, the most recent of which is Lost the Art of Dreaming It So (Unsolicited Press, 2018). His writing appears in Notre Dame Review, Rhino, North Dakota Quarterly, Rattle, and many other journals. He received a fellowship from the West Virginia Commission on the Arts and spent five years in a West Virginia prison. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.