Black Waters

River run
Down the mount
Let diamonds pour
Cleanse the fetid pipes
Where black waters roar
Past the ponds
Where mallards glide
Forgotten mounds of rocks
That fade in the sun
Purge this human waste
Chase the swell of rats
The jellied fats
Of nameless fish
Feces and filth
roaches and tortured ants
Evil and pestilent guilt
River run
Into the night
Of my days
Erase
All this

Neon Sign

I write poetry for appearances' sake.
But though the phrases sweat
the feelings one might have felt,
they're the neon sign in front—
I keep the goodies stashed in back.
It's not you but my own self
I've failed and long misled:
Aching emotions can't be kept
nor driven out in verse—
as if an evil curse—
unmet, unfelt; unwept.