Sunsetmists

A Typical Poem about ‘Dear John’ Letters By:  Sean McQ It’s exactly like that taste of the air in any old big house That has cracks in the paint where dust fidgets And hides while waiting for a stranger to walk Through the always large oak door. It taste like the moment somebody staggers Instead of walks through the neglected dining room And the dust, instead of softly falling from the cracks And swaying with the gentle current of air Birthed by the cautious steps of the stranger And backlit by the pleased morning sun, Waits and leaves only the smell of a room alone too long. That is the taste welling against my ch

Sleep By:  Sean McQ He stood next to his bed, His ankles brushing the loose sheets. It was dark but the sky was threading Itself with the glimmer of morning. The fan goosebumped his calves And his boxers hung limp on his thighs But he couldn't sit on the bed. Sometimes it is so simple: Just lay down, ignore the bedsprings, And quiet the whispers in your mind                                   ... or ignore them. The morning was getting stronger in the sky Coming