The Blizzard Buzz/The Cupboard

The blizzard opens the door of your liquor
storage. Someone said,
“Magic needs black, white and a cabinet.”

The trick has already widened
the night and has shortened the space,
but both remain beyond the scope
of the binocular you keep near a window.

You pour some cheapest pegs
you cannot afford. We drink
a conversation. We drink a dusty magazine.
Something metallic cracks outside.

An insect casts an enormous shadow
now and again as if death
shows us all the seasons of the same core
and waits for our applaud. 

The Cupboard

When you open the cupboard
tea from another century
releases blood, smoke and tannins.

Sometimes you still hide inside,
close the doors and wish –
a path will open in the dusty dark.
All stories are not true
even if you adopt their elements.

You hear the house outside.
Something moves the emptiness,
combs it. It never finds the right cupboard.