Aug 292011
 

Heavy, unforgivable dreams, despair,
Hard breathing, the omnipresent air,

Whistle beneath my brain a tribal tune
Uncaught by inner ear since Stonehenge rune.

Waking in a shuddered fever
Unconscious of pattern or the weather,

Ripped apart by an ambulance scream,
Torn to storm-cloud crepe in dreams,

The question presents itself undressed:
What's happening? Where's Death?

What's my cause, my case, my crux?
Horror stirred to eloquence

Returns the steady stare,
Blatant or beady, that I did not dare.

By failure of vision we unite
Where all the candles refuse to light

At the black bottom of a bowl or ditch
Where every nerveless hand fumbles for the switch. 


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