rancour, black

by Amir Bouanane

the gathering of ether,
the dancer in the morgue
and the crow perched
awaiting the toll of 6 p.m.

then it bites the night, this
gavel that fares better for
its midday patrons, no matter
still; it’s an alcoholics reception.

that’s the way it oughta be,
says my father. it all breaks
into the dregs of autumn,
and i protract a thought—

segment it, parse out the
divinity. i offer it bare,
flesh pink—throbbing and
portly. he just nods.

stifles breath to muffle
and on cue, death begins.
real death; he who commences
the unspooling of shadows

Amir Bouanane is a New York City based, Moroccan-American poet, writer, artist and life observer who finds comfort in the gentle magic of words—through which he aspires to translate the soul imbued in scenes of life to give others a measure of catharsis or amenity.