Christopher Major

LEAVING LEFT

Alone, unable to sleep,
I watch the sun burst behind the church,
and a black tapering steeple
appear to part the morning sky,
tonight's night present, correct,
and eager to add to my darkness.
Stark trees, bronchial branches nest clogged,
rattle and spit their spray of birds
at the sore sky;
phone wires flick from flat-line,
as wind smacks and slaps the puddles
that slowly form diesel bruises.
Grass strains its tire track stitches,
while God's eye glides the church roof,
stops at the rifle-sight cross,
trained on little left to kill.

See,
even the place hurts,
is ill without you.

Location:	United Kingdom
Email:	chris@major74.freeserve.co.uk
Publications:	Poetry Mag.com, Poetry Kit, Stirring, Poem Box, Apples Oranges, Mindfire, Grape, Writers' Hood, Comrades, Shampoo, etc.

- May 2002 - Memory Selection Little Mother Lust for Light Lines when we moved back here Valentine (Funny how we assumed) Leaving Left The Equation The Revenge Julia Letter to my Sister A Voice Touching In Miniature Smog - Erin Elizabeth's Favorite Six - For Gala-Salvador Dali For our dead cat . . . A Poem to My Left Breast Sadie and jamie wouldn't eat her dinner. Scratching A Sound From My Throat, Waiting For The Room To Clear