It's the night when blue dogs
come with pitchforks
to eat our eyes

the mirror's last legacy
a flaking silver rage
unconditional surrender
the color of the moon

bad weather ten miles high
filled with fists and broken glass

the only sound a static hiss
tape loop of a snake in heat
giving form to silence

and the rattle of the nerves
the shaking window panes
somewhere in the spleen stained
with blood's rushing thrum

our shattered bones
picked clean

Jim Tyack, born in Brooklyn in 1938, has worked as a land surveyor, bartender, clown, art critic and college professor. He has published numerous books and chapbooks of poetry, including: THE RENTED TUXEDO, A LIMOUSINE TO NOWHERE, and TUNDRA. His work has appeared in many magazines and periodicals (Down Here, Exquisite Corpse, Prairie Schooner, The Village Voice, etc.) and has been widely anthologized (Starting From Paumanok, On Good Ground,
Paumanok Rising, The Stiffest of the Corpse: An Exquisite Corpse Reader, Thus Spake the Corpse, In Autumn, The McGraw Hill Book of Poetry). He is currently living in New Hampton, NY with his wife, Ellen.

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