Things Behind the Sun

By Matthew Walsh

Image Copyright E. Harper 08

an army of skeletons remain
grey-purple trunks
long and frail
widow’s fingers
saying goodbye

black-grey clouds
washed out ash-tray water
tree branches, like claws
reaching, clutching
their twig-hands almost ashes

the sun behind this scene sets
a sore, pink red wound
still-born egg yolk

at night, the moth eggs open
in the burnt-out bowels of the trees
the sound like tinfoil,
crumpling, between fingers,
wings spread under the moon;
unfolding, revealing alien dress

the girl,
her arm, pale as milk,
marked with veins,
tight, knitted circuitry
pulsing through
flesh, clear as glass

above her, clouds collect,
like grey wool, caught
in a Singer, they aim–
to smother the moon

the road is drowned in
a dark, brackish ether
a yellow bus passes.
the color of banana flavoured cough-syrup.
milky-yellow.