I find myself weeping for the night-shift in the hot humid mountain
air; without her lights I would crash into the darkness and crawl
into that desolate space and forgo nourishment and wisdom under
rocks, under religion, under man's abstract impression. At night she
hides the fragments of our romances, buried deep in her night-shift.
She knows I am the jealous lover, shimmering in my fertilized
dreams and that I am buffered out by her beauty. She is the dark
corpse that floats above me, holding her love like a tomb of bright
glitter. Automation, detonation, her black phantoms hide in her
molasses darkness. Inside her curvy constellation, she is winking
metaphors and meteors. She is the fabric of art, swirling her history
in a fluorescent blanket, as her ghostly cricket’s whisper. She pole
dances across stars in her neon spider web, hanging, dancing all
alone. Always to find me, weeping in the night-shift.
About the author:
Harlan Wheeler is the author of four books of non-fiction, including The Gratitude Journey; from Jellyfish to Bigfoot. A self-proclaimed inspirational trouble maker, his poetry has appeared in Dead Flowers, A Poetry Rag, Dark Matter, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Blackheart and Great weather for media. He has a large following on FB under “the warrior of inspiration” and he considers himself an Inspirationologist. You can find him online here.