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Steven Doherty


Venice, CA, US

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Destiny's Hand


Steven Doherty

I am true unto myself
These tears are warm,
not cold
They come from a little joy that I have brought myself
A collapse in the internal workings
A momentary flux of emotions
Overwhelmed, overjoyed
Please, excuse my actions
Forgive my shortcomings
I cannot be everything
I can only be creative and incomplete
Rinse these towels free of these iodine truths
Smother me in density until it is mine to keep
Deliver to me a coma
In which I can store all these tales
and a sunset with an overdose laying at its side
Just promise you won't leave me here alone
Wait with me until this last sensation is gone
until one last relieved tear falls and everything is still
as it should be

all the dead winds


Steven Doherty

ordinary rustling
amongst the vipers
and cracked leaves

oak limbs
and crushed sparrows
line the deserted side streets
that no one dare navigate
light sockets
listless and dark
observe the silence
without casting

soda cans jingle
across broken asphalt
pressed lazily
by the dead winds
left in the wake
of the storm

the milk is turning
the thermostat is rising
the lines
are dead
the worst
is slow
in coming