Wednesday, October 14, 2020

New Poetry by John Tustin

Sunshine in the Glass
Pure sunbeams in the bottle,
Sunshine in the glass.
Cold lovely sunshine,
I pour it into me as I read Neruda
And listen to Johnny Cash
With a storm just left
And another one coming.
The water has never come into the house
Except once and it wasn’t much.
Sundown in the bottle,
Sundown in the glass.
I put the sundown into me
As I read Charles Bukowski
And listen to Ray Wylie Hubbard.
The devils are squatting in the corners of the room,
Wings unfolding,
Waiting for me to fall asleep.
The angels are leaving,
Wings folding,
As I finish the last glass,
Close the book,
Turn off the music.
There’s no sunshine left.
The bottles in the garbage,
The glass in the sink,
The clock always moving.
I walk toward the bed.
The devils wait with slobbering mouths
And gleams in their eyes, on their claws,
Their horns and their tails.
The devils wait for my sleep.
The angels wait for the opening of the next bottle,
The pouring into the next glass.

- © John Tustin 2020

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals in the last dozen years. contains links to his published poetry online.


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