Two Poems by Rob Plath

OPEN

my scars
become skylights
most nights

the stars
shine thru
the wounds

their silvery milk
bathing any traces
of pain



LUCK

i have this
old mug of
brushes

& these
tubes of
primary colors

& these makeshift
canvases

but if everything
should suddenly
become terribly stale

then i have these two hands
to un-postpone my
suicide ....