I’ve got holes
In empty walls
Where this fist
Leaves jagged imprints
Making marks
Of disappointment
During days
Such anger builds,

Screaming loudly
Down long halls
Thinking no one
Ever hears me
Except ghosts
Whose silent vigil
Judges memories
Hands express

And mouths bleed
Through spoken angst
Spilling verse
Once thought cathartic
Soon replaced
By brutal methods
While still crying
Fears out loud –

Causing echoes
Cursing pasts
Lacking reasons
But obsession
With that hurt
Recurring always
Every day
Her words ring true.

How our picture
Went right there
Holding spaces
White from blankness
Tracing outlines
Accidentally
Marking dust
Around each frame –

Happy scenes
Like better days
Now long gone
Among lost portraits
Beneath attics
Near old comics
Where all heroes
Go to die,

Under boxes
Shedding dust
Finding innocence
Going dormant
Burying childhood
Getting married
Having kids
Then getting sick.

Some realities
Temper faith
Despite miracles
Caught on camera
Once removed
Though felt forever
Even present
As they fade.

• J. Pigno