D.C. Malone Poems

An arch of doves hangs over my head
Like a piece not meant to be performed
Every time I go step outside
It's as if I've fallen in love with every person I never known
...

is it so bad
that i don't want
to make the sky
cry and leave all
...

A pitcher pours
Droplets of wind
Against the sheer,
Olive curtains
...

He came from the ghostly hums of the powerlines
That hang overhead of the empty lot
That only you and the world's last crow knew of
When you two were almost young
...

I remember the first time I watched his menacing ink dry
His penmanship -- oh so withdrawn
His figures -- perfectly skewed
His compositions have been smeared away, but the impression remains
...

He was a stray cat who'd forgotten how to purr
A traveling salesman who had no home to return
His fingers, thin and hollowed like broken whiskers
His collar, unforgiving like his past eight lives
...