Poem by Jim Feeney

 

Thom Yorke Takes a Walk on Halloween Night

The night howls, fog curls
a thin cloud bisects the moon;
at the graveyards’ edge

an abandoned well
at the bottom of that well
Thom Yorke cries for help.

The dead wake slowly
grey fists punch through mounds of earth
Thom Yorke cries for help.

 

Jim Feeney was born in Dublin and currently lives in Vancouver. He has published previously in Cyphers (Ireland),The sHop (Ireland), In-Flight Literary Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Anti Heroin Chic, The Basil O’Flaherty and others.

 

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