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May 8, 2013

fifty five

It’s come.
Turn the soil.
Announce the arrival of the rats.
Let me see the sky.
Let the rain pool in my eye.
Let each rusted nail melt on my tongue.
The trees bow to grieve The Laughing One.
And I trust you felt it too?
Each crack of the whip was ever for you.
Fifty scarlet licks and now we’re done.
Fifty scarlet hairs about my neck.
My back to my hand to my back and we’re through.
And the wind beat like lead.
On the Lords of the Dead.
And it sang;
“Keep the lighthouse in view.”

The air rang with ozone in a way that I knew.
Gray and grave and gruesome.
As I felt it in my youth.
In my mouth and in my sinew.
Smells like truth.
Tastes like bone meal.
A little too bright and a little too real.
And that old man in black.
Read the marks on my back.
Where the ink had all ran.
And he sang;
“Don’t put your eye to the crack.”

I no longer have the strength to fight.
A lily dying in the light.
Laying next to you, though an ocean apart.
An orchid blooming in the dark.


From → Poetry

One Comment
  1. You are truly working it! Congrats, better & better each poem. “Lily” — not “lilly”. Perhaps transpose “As I felt …/ … and in my sinew.” I like your work, keep at it — remember, it is not only inspiration but craft. Be careful of your spelling and grammar. I offer this in the most positive fashion, no disrespect intended. You have real talent. Glad I’m following you.

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