Key Hole Apocalypse by Sarah Thursday

There is light faintly pressing
against the rim rubbing soft
past oak and bronze

All the silences have hecklers
all the gentle landings shake
like trains on gravel tracks

All the distances are black ants
on gray clouds slipping by fingers
The gray is a blue child's breath
The gray is a stubbled man's beard

It moves in flickers from
left to right, from left to right
a slow finger and then snap

It's a multi-story parking garage
vacant line after line waiting
for passengers, waiting for solids
to absorb the aching sounds


Sarah Thursday is an advocate for local poets and poetry events. She runs a Long Beach-focused poetry website called CadenceCollective.net, co-hosts a monthly reading and, started Sadie Girl Press. Her first full-length poetry collection, All the Tiny Anchors, is available now. Find and follow her on SarahThursday.com, Facebook, or Twitter.