STEVE AND HIS OPIOIDS – John Grey

All the birds are blackbirds.
All the fields are shadow.
All the houses are homes of the dead.
And then those volleys
of unseen fists
thump into my chest,
bloody my eyes,
near break my jaw.
And when darkness is done,
it turns into chill.
So cold, I can’t bear to touch me.

_{John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.}

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