Speeding Down Interstate 86 South by Jack Henry

alone in a house
under skies
gray and unforgiving
surrounded by an empty desert
and a dead sea

there are no voices
here
no sounds that rise from a schoolyard covered in dead grass
there are no eyes
here
no witnesses arranged in a fashionable stance to bear truth upon those of us that remain
there are no screams
here
no cries of ecstasy or pain or confusion from tides unbearable on shores discontent

in the solace of night
a meth kitchen explodes
into life
and burns
unattended
no crowds gather to watch
and dance

in days like these
the ones we awake to without fresh skin
our feet touch
cold stone
hands reach out for a glass pipe and torch

and little else

Baying at the Moon by Jack Henry

she’s down the hall
laughing
that laugh of youth
- of getting laid at will
- of running nights w/o exhaustion
- of chasing dreams too big
too real and too close to be
a lie

memories flash fiction
she smiles into mirrors
w/o rejection

wolves bay at hallowed moons
her scent thick
they cry at the call
of her cunt

we would shoot them
one by one but perhaps
it’s best they take her

night would be quiet
and i might actually sleep