A Pack of Matches

by Bill Yarrow



across the way
insulated from snow
by a slim cleavage in the hills

the wet nurses gossip
to the storm clouds
about the old men in the jail

on the opposite side of the lake
inky frauds seek celebrity
as if that porousness were protection from despair

twelve floors up
I sit on used furniture
and recalibrate loss




in the Tropic of Parkinson's
the heartless moon looks on in stupor
as the ocean catches frail meteors in its arms

outside the Castle of Logos
the palsied rain
conspires with tattooed thunder

around the corner
a colony of ruined trees
laments a bend in the weather

then the cheaters
ever merciless
begin losing at cards