Corey Mesler

C o r e y  M e s l e r  

next

In the Days of the Waning Jubal

“It is all a rhythm/from the shutting

  door, to the window/opening...”

           —Robert Creeley 

The nights were made of old electricity, weak as heartbeats.

The music was all Amy Lavere

or Jukebox

Johnny and “How’s your Hoohoo?”

The time was right

and you took my hand and left

the rest of me to whine

like wind through a pine cone. I

asked you for the song

about us, the one with the chorus

stolen from 

Wombat Scat, or maybe the Klitz.

There was something

in the air then, not quite the release

we had been prepared

for, but just shy of redemption. We

trusted the music

that much. We danced till the silence

came and then we danced with the silence,

until it took us away, also.