Erik Ash

Month: January, 2013

Wisconsin Barn and a Quatrain




Shivering in the subterranean darkness
In the thick air of the sickly, moldy death,
There sprouts a strange and wondrous jungle of fungus.
From corpses permeates a new kind of breath.

Milwaukee River I 1-2-2013

Sonnet to Broken Glass

The echoing moans of lost lovers
Trill in the mysterious streets of blue.
The whispers of an orphaned little brother
Singe skin and crust sickly eyelids like glue.

Coins slam the bar with a ringing fury.
Drums snap through the hordes of the pale glories.
Tonight I warm myself with calm whoring;
I’ll stretch out in the fine helm of stories.

The somber reflections in the water
Weep a stream of tears for the ancient ways.
The swaying meditation goes further
In the void’s miserable, nebulous haze.

Burning with the secret rail of acid.
There is no hope in this bitter passage.

The red sauce burns between the dampening lips,
In the folds of a puffy sort of flesh.
Gentle cries fill the air of a messy kiss,
A love that can never be shared with the rest.