by Michael Igoe
Swindled by awe
taken from others
it held me from
saved, raptured moments
It’s frolic, a panic;
the count of blood drops
in the heave of the gut.
It reaps a cryptic fortune
unleashed, in vast array,
makes a deal like mad
with uninvited guests.
Unsure, motive grows clearer
in the twilight of my lifetime
I someday must clear out.
My secret battle with time,
Does it freeze within me?
Michael Igoe, Chicago – now Boston. Numerous publications in journals online and print. Corrections counseling and work with emotionally disturbed children. Member of the Democratic national committee. Urban realism/surrealism. “I like the night.” Follow Michael online @MichaelIgoe5, or check out his work in the latest Avalanches in Poetry collection.