River Black / by Jeffrey Kinsey

River black before me, whisper secrets, speak of sickness, sing

a droning song, and ambiance to set the mood for this.

Feed the lines to me. Feed me lightless depths and darker dreams.

I’ll write your body as a shadow underneath my fingertips.


River, make me guess. Project the shape of things that shouldn’t be,

myriad mirages in the fog that floats atop your waves.

Hallucination rising as my body looking back at me,

a distant figure dying in the different shades of gray.


Endless river, speak of things I’ll never understand,

offering yourself to every ocean, letting go,

syphoning your spirit through the frame of a forgotten plan,

sediments to eulogize the god that’s drown below.


River, tell me something of a different kind of life,

where light is but a flicker, sound is silenced, breath is gone,

where pages saturate and break away, diminished line by line,

and ink floats to the surface to dissolve inside the dawn.


River black before me, take these words and add them onto yours,

a second verse to muted movement, saying not a thing.

I’ll feed the lines to you, you sing them back without a note removed.

Let me bask inside the blackened silence that you bring.