Poetry from Timothy Drake


i am out and the

hole world comes crashing through

the viscera the window the pain streaked

on the walls whose virgin white

reminds me of you reminds me of ghost

until day until night i remain in the

stasis in the tumult in the faceless

crowd unblinking undulating breathing

talking wordless

i remember the castle i remember

the shore the cliffs of dover the sunset

the vision always fading of roses of roots of

daffodils of mountains singed with sky

now who are we emptied of each other who

held ourselves out across the bramble void

and made a flame in the devouring dark

all all who kiss all all who last last but an instant


visage my clarity gone

old world absconds in the mists

of the new our machines inject

ancestral void in the marrow and the

compass closed i weigh

my futility on the edge of the world

the razor of horizons

and snap the pendant we plummet

and we call this living

making a living

a living plague in our days

our maladies a routine

penciled in on years of calendars

like a band-aid to stop gangrene

and nothing not dying not leaving

takes us away from our amputations


spiral old gauntlet guards

no more high angels

on high authority sprawled

corpses disfigured like

mathematical analysis of soul

before the ancient lurked in

modern garb, stalking the nights

like Jack the Ripper

reveling in our wounds

we dissipate into ourselves

heart shut off from body shut off from world

in mind where concourse

of obligation and damnation

make lepers of every wish

and finish the sentence unsaid.


waiting the transistor

to lurch back into

the correct configuration

that sparks may fly through

my arms and eyes

and life pour into the veins

one more time like the old days

by mistake god this whole ragged thing

of days your necessity of regret and despair

awaiting the morning one more day

golden when the hand may be steady

and cogent and clear the brain

sings unstuttering unabashed

by its knowledge and ignorance

and find wisdom in the leaping wilderness

of something like youth blazing again or love

and with courage spray the words out

of the mouth and perhaps the soul might even rise.


Timothy Drake is a poet who lives in Houston, Texas. He spends most of his time programming computers or reading books.