Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, August 8, 2013


by Will Monigold

Now the moon is oil.  I've turned
the last bottle up and muddied my heart.
My solemn vows live among brute facts.
The room is hand woven like a tight ball of broom
and dwarfs engulf me with elixirs
deliberate as gunpowder.  From the end of my flute
come the next leafy cork and I sit
like driftwood, expecting a kick
from blunt boots.  Any other day would be
compliance, but the worm is frantic for my eye
the solitude like acid in a grape.

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