Gomorrah

by Eddi Saladoe

 

Right when I believed

that I was finally free

from the angry longing

and a need to hear your voice

just one more time

you come to me in dreams

like smoke sneaking

under a bedroom door

the innocent sleepers unaware

that the civilization

which they built

is up in flames.

 

Iron Anniversary

by John Tottenham

 

The object of this restlessness that puzzles you

is solitude: a loneliness for loneliness,

a wistfulness for restlessness, a straining back

to what comes naturally, the way things used to be

when I had only me. I miss myself madly.

I long to be romantically involved

with myself again, like old times,

dependent only upon independence, demanding

only temptation. I’m better off in an empty kennel,

un-muzzled and free: that was the essence

of my doghouse epiphany.

 

Upon your encroachment my world shrinks.

My energy level sinks. I feel as if I’m fading away.

But your need of me is addictive: It keeps me warm,

the way a tea cozy maintains the pot’s warmth

long after the tea has lost its flavor.

Now I am continually both parched and sated,

sapped, tired of feeling, halfheartedly clinging.

With or without you, my life has no meaning.