31 days of almost 4:00 a.m.

How can one make January wrong
Or night? The night
Holding the deadly car
In the selfsame palm

As the innocent star of a man.
Or boiling up a sleepless winter plan
To ruin a good son’s life.

The horror too sublime to pen
I’ve lain in ink the sky
Sobbed into the farthest stars
And not tried to move them.

2015