When her sweet opiate frost draws long
Over the blanched and paralyzed walls-
Fading out the delicate decay of insidious dawn…
“There’s no compromise
In the arms of the longest night…”
She whispers to the seeping light rusting
Away the tiny spaces
Where her pale eyes, fully
Drunk on lullabies, meditate on that
Long dead magic
“It’s not a miracle to survive…
It’s just a habit”.
About the AuthorG. James Cook is 27 years of age and has lived in Michigan all of his life. He's been published by what he describes as "a few small, vague rags - nothing much really to speak of." The vast majority of his writing stems from the darker aspects of the human condition His years of education and work in the medical field serve as grand subject resource as well as fuel for the fire. He currently works with severely emotionally and developmentally challenged individuals. The two poems represented here are from a forthcoming collection titled "The Method Learned" which the author hopes to have completed soon.
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