Alan Catlin has been publishing for the better part of five decades. His most recent full length book is, Still Life with Lighthouse from Cyberwit. He is the poetry editor of Misfit Magazine on line.
of snow, the white canvas
upon which moving images
are projected: a carved skull
white eels are writhing in,
using eye sockets, the mouth,
all orifices, as exit wounds
for ejecting painted birds of
paradise, lush colors leaking
from their bodies as they fly,
reflecting the sun with prisms
that break light into cylinders
to be used as homes, dwellings
for extended families admiring
themselves in handheld mirrors
as break-in artists escape from
open windows with all that
may be stolen followed by
the family dog, crawling babies
too young for gazing at reflections
in tidal pools, the flood waters
that lie beneath the snow laden
plains, burning bushes lighting
the way along the flooded banks
for all dreamers lost.
You must have been exhausted.
All that awful rowing toward God.
You dolled up for Death. Fixed
your make up. Your hair. Drank a shaker
full of chilled Gin. Popped some pills.
Plugged the car exhaust and turned
the engine over.
Something like that.
Reports vary but the end result
is always the same.
There are no reprieves, no second
chances once you’ve crossed the bar on