"Sonata No. 9 (Black Mass)"

a poem

Pale moonless night rumbling in the streetlights.

Quiet as a grey cat preening through the dark alleyways,

and into quiet timbers slight with akimbo scatter claws.

Thrumming up light and over to the overliquid sky.

Mark the solid stance with the barking of a hound.

The vague granite sounderspoon whisp chocolate.

Casting mirrors on the vivid black weeds brings shattered sound crumble overring.

Stamp your foot to the music time shuffle,

And then to the blackness stumble.