Four Poems by Christopher Hivner

I Wrote This One While Staring at My Desk at Work
 
I miss her,
the reasons why aren’t important,
although
the smell of her skin
still lives
inside me
held there by
invisible hands
with slender fingers.






The Vibrating Sky
 
Two lane highways
lead me farther into
a night
that breaks into diamonds
twirling past
as I leak oil
in patterns on the tar
to signal
the mothership
or another ship
or any craft
to lift me away
into the black felt bosom
of the vibrating sky.
No moon tonight
for me to steer by,
no light
to reveal my craters
and dried salt seas,
the road is straight,
no snaking,
no turns into glory
or head-ons with truckers
wired by amphetamines.
The car engine whines
as I push the gas pedal
through the earth
to its core,
the road’s yellow lines
whip at me
like a cat o’ nine tails
flaying my skin
until its striped red,
a burn for my lack of penitence,
a reminder of my past
on the chase.
A two lane road
of two way dreams
and I’m driving the wrong direction
into a night
of cut diamonds
raining down
from the vibrating sky.
 






Do the Stars Know Our Names?
 
Some say it’s only a
matter of time
until the world ends
but maybe
it will go on forever
like the stars
that spell your name
through time.
I hope it lasts
until the fabric of the night
frays into a single thread
and wraps us together
in a pulsing cocoon.
It’s a matter of time
until we end
and the world goes on,
the universe spins
while we stand still
until the stars
forget us.
 





Itinerary
 
Where is that feeling?
The one that
drove me,
the itch
that made breathing worthwhile.
Where do I need to be
to find it again?
South?
North?
My bags are packed
I just need an itinerary.
 
The water rolls by,
supple shapes formed
in the wavelets,
amoebas stretching around
one another,
elongating,
narrowing,
living,
moving on.
If I lay on the water
it will take me
somewhere.
East?
West?
 
The fishermen cast their lines
and wait,
patient,
contemplative,
assured that the fish are right there,
in the spot they’ve chosen.
It’s all a question of the bait.
Live?
Synthetic?
The right morsel
will catch the right fish.
 
The water doesn’t stop moving
but it won’t
accept me,
I don’t belong to the sea
but to another element
guiding me with telluric energy
to the horizon
far away.
Backward?
Forward?
My bags remain ready,
tell me where to go.

Bio: Christopher Hivner: writes from a small town in Pennsylvania surrounded by books and the echoes of music. He has recently been published in Saudade and Dead Snakes. A chapbook of poems, “The Silence Brushes My Cheek Like Glass” was published by Scars Publications and another, “Adrift on a Cosmic Sea”, was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press. website:www.chrishivner.com, Facebook: Christopher Hivner - Author, Twitter: @Your_screams

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