untitledThere were no words that could pierce the light of the noon-day sere.
With silent glances, we scrutinized the scene.
Stage left: handshakes meant to greet brought only fears.
Right, roses meant for each, kept only for those here.
And yet the doom-drum beat onward in time to the turn of the gyre.
What of those lost players,
Behind gilded wings,
As these angels ascend in thunderous glory?
What of the morning-star and the beast below,
And the sordid din of an opera box?
"Crawl back now into your graves, your lost kingdoms.
I did not leave death's dream kingdom to prophesy to you, nor to speak at all to you.
I am not Lazerus from the dead,
Come to say..." There are so many things I would like to say.
"We would not break into laughter,
But only into thunderous applause.
Not only for you,
Yet only for you."
untitledAn electronic scream on the wire:
"I am Odysseus, come thrice on a black horse
To this black house with its bone dry cellar-"
Jackboots concealed by dark blue scrubs,
They knock thrice
To the rhythm of the war drums.
"On horseback we come as martyrs to Wetback Hill,
To the waters, to the market square.
Our robes white lilies in a lilac sun,
With dirt wedged between our toes.
"And on they come, clothed in the radiance of the sun.
Around the bend comes the wedding party, red and red and read to by streetlight,
Coming once around to scorn at the morning.
"His dumb smile as he pulls up a zipper,
And snaps on suspenders.
A brackish haze meanders past
As his lion's grasp turns once to black.
"Her indolence and impotence
Walk down the aisle
Hand in hand in arm in strung out,
Wrung out arm.
Lips parted in turn to kiss,
To scream, to trill
On these ornate ornamentations
Of name and rank,
"Lips parted in turn to speak,
Give way only to cool air and coffee breath."
With the honking of geese