Soon The Night

Soon the night will be over.

This I pray.

Drown me deep,

and do it quickly.

No odorless odes

or crashing cars.

No knotty ends

of rosy rope.

Off with Saturday

night's head.

I want to go fast and furious

into this fight of light.

Wish these hours away.

Wishing, all that remains;

like a farewell surprise

in a Jack Cracker box.

Forget Van Gogh

and his wistful stars.

Give me a neon nebula;

long as an ear of day.

Something the naked eye

can't see.

Something the eye

can't see naked. Something.

Mark this march of time;

slow creep of dusk,

self-inflicted seconds,

still warm and bled out.

'Til dead of dewy dawn

crosses the faithful finish.

And sumptuous Sunday

seems mine once again.

My sister is sure I got

my father's loneliness.

Only I go willy nilly, with

legacy of wounded wonder.

True, the lion left me

countdown of cussing clocks

and wrathful witching

of antsy “tic and toc.”

He and I — two by too,

draw close the cold of time;

Say goodbye DNA. For I

have survived both of us.

Emma E. Tynan