poem: dark rising

The dark is rising

black silent rising
no lights
no human sounds
all drowned out

water like a snake shoosing
through the floor boards
over the porch
in the door
a black glistening tongue
licking across the red carpet,
twisting and turning,
into the kitchen
sucking out Mr. Clean and Shout
as the spiders and mice rush up the walls
the Crispy Cream baseball team smiling
riding the greasy slick
with the leaves, hubcaps,
garbage bags like eels
twisting and turning
into the back bedroom
tossing up shoe boxes of glittering tango pumps
magazines and dollar bills
ever rising swirling
voiceless noise
roaring

black water swirling, sliding
inside and out
the house sways,
it squeaks,
it groans
large objects hit the walls
a beam is cracking
giving in to it


the water coming
up up to the attic
where we lie still
we – two
the ones left
listening
waiting
still alive
swamp dank moisture
presses on us
our breath like moth wings
limply beating the air
our fearful beady eyes
peering into the great darkness
of the starless night
the only light
the empty whitefaced moon
hanging like a dead pancake

we shout
no sound goes out
hush it says
no one knows