Three Dark Poems by Fabrice Poussin

In the House of Gray Matter

Inside the termite feast
wooden slats agonize in 
the pedestal of the former fortress.

A shell of clapper boards still attempts
to shield the gooey mass
from infernal storms.

Only one room for the great reception
candle lights and evening gown
and there remains only the gray matter.

It pulsates at an unforgiving beat 
oozing with the last glows of a dream
blind through the cracks of faked windows.

Few thoughts emanate from the dull fire
a spark here pretends to still care
yet it is alien to an existence it once knew.

The walls ache with a constant throb
while the ruby fluid quickly pales
soon it will be darkness in this old head.

Let Her Cry Once More

Staring at a faraway line beyond the surf
having braved the early hour in a light satin
she has walked perhaps a final stroll upon a beloved shore.

Like so many covers of fancy periodicals
she still graces the pages of her wondrous tale
stained by the repeated wounds of her teen days

Broken in bones as she is in soul
the ocean is the receptacle of grand desires
filled with endless torrents of her tears.

Beneath her breast a fire attempts to burst
into an eternal scream through the air
yet she remains silent as her gaze darkens.

Once she only had her chagrin for companion
now she recalls the long hours before dawn
when she could sound a voluptuous cry.

It has been centuries she feels
since she was last able to make a whisper 
but now it is time to accept the embrace of the wave.

Wrapped in the immense shroud of days without sense
she lets herself carried away to the depths
where at least she will repose in safety.

Writing Her In

The pen softly moves across the white
page of unfulfilled dreams
an unfinished tale whispers to the cosmos.

Drawing upon memories others hold
deep within the aching flesh he searches
the ideal perhaps none can fathom. 

A word is born into the velum
a letter of endless curves and thick
edges to the side of the eternal page.

He might be blind to the unruly crowds
as he contemplates a vision carved
on the secret walls of his crumbling days. 

The story at last comes to life
phrases take form above the sterile land
and dance a waltz into tight embrace. 

Revealed in its most simple attire
even if but for a mere instant
he has found the refuge within the creation. 

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.  

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