SENTINEL

In this secret place where words no longer serve,

there blooms a malcontent waiting for the

storms to subside. In this secret place

Samantha sits by the window contemplating a

quick death from the 80th floor,

as inch by inch I rise to take my

leave with a humble bow to

you, my haughty lady.

In this secret place the walls remain and the

sentinel stands watch, a lightning rod for

every capricious cowboy--their thick

accents a collusion of condemnation,

they who partition your dreams,

obsessed with their own

salvation, the slow wasting away

as the earth sinks beneath their feet.

In this secret place the orchestra

plays a tango that sails on the

indigo wind, as somewhere in the night

devils dance without any pants--

wildfires springing forth and
multiplying like a Hydra in the hills.