Paving the road to hell

when anger sewn
righteous and proud
overtakes men’s hearts
and swords
what good intent
one had before
will be a casualty
when egos war


Emptiness crowds

into crevices once

overflowing with you —

all I know of love,

what it could be,

how it rises and falls

Secreting the blade

and hilt behind its back

while it parries and thrusts

leaving gashes

silky as red ribbons,

upon my soul,

all of it I learned from you.

Truth, staid and sticky

barges out of the shadows, clumsy

and blundering

forbidding my eyes to blink,

my head to turn.

You grip my face digging

your fingers into hollow cheeks

Forcing me to grant you Sainthood

instead of hating you

Oh, sweet relief,

permit me to deny

the wound and the knife,

allow me to worship

the dream I had of you

a little while longer.

I promise my heart

as sacrifice, if you would be


 ©Sandy Knight 2019, All rights reserved. image credit: Upslash

You will not be trusted


The gilded heart of a poet
historically rife with
treacherous romantic
notions spilling blood
colored secrets onto pages
whipping hearts into
frenzied gasps and
hand-wringing rages
from towers on high

Oh how you deceive us
for the sake of what —

Truth? which is fickle by
the least of good standards
apt to fly like a flock
of fetid city pigeons
flapping wings against
history and the whispering lips
of stalwart legions!

Sifting through crowded
gutters, and books for
artifacts of life,
suppositions of existence
soliloquies of cheer
contrived from falsehoods
Poets too far removed
to recognize your words
have no authority here!

Sandy Knight, 2019, All Rights Reserved




Ordinary Things

I found her
in the folding and unfolding
of a fitted sheet
sharp corners gathered
then disguised

in elastic roundness

her life will never be
one I can neatly put away

nor would I try —

I need to hold it up to the light
spread my arms wide then
tuck it under my chin
while I pull the edges in
to my chest
in a misshapen square
turning it this way and that,
spreading it on the table or bed
while I sort the rest of
the laundry in my head

How long will ordinary things
remind mind me of her?

©Sandy Knight, 2018–All Rights Reserved



this is not goodbye
it’s more like a bathroom break;
the pause for a cause



Lies of omission

grown in

the silence between

take on lives of their own

robbing from each

our secrets

stolen from the justified

and vulnerable

borrowed on fear

until grown

so bloated and taut, truth

springs from unguarded lips fully

formed, as virulent

as a virus without

an antidote

yet, having the power

to heal the troubled

heart of a liar

© Sandy Knight, All Rights Reserved (PREVIOUSLY APPEARING IN A CORNERED GURL on Nov 18 ·)



Sleepless at 3 am

She believes too much
In her own intuition and the ambiguity
Of a convincing dream

Remembering how her hand felt
On the splintery rudder of the tiller
Turning over the night sky, dividing it
Into parcels of starless black soil
She would clear a space
To divine futures from the pitch blank
Of uncertainty; planting fragile seeds of hope
Into furrowed fields yawning with pretense.

Isn’t all life
Thus so, as to be an undiscovered
Meadow fertile among the stars,
Dense with potential to be harvested amid
The stark brilliance of mornings that challenge
Reason’s capacity to distinguish life
From what had grown and what had not?

Though she knows too much
Romanticism may ransack the common
Sense residing within the least of her wits
She will resist plucking stars from the brooding night
For a few more moments of fruitless sleep.

Copyright Slk, 2019, All rights reserved.

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