In The Cold Dawn

 [Poetry], Unimagined Things  Comments Off on In The Cold Dawn
Aug 272011

Before the geese upon the water have begun their day,
Before cold dawn could allay the winter's deep dream of May,
Or any symbolical host fly out of the dark, as it must,
The thoughtful song, drawn like yarn out of a beggar's breast,
And which had illuminated pride, so weak was the world's way,
Unseen ages, like the bird with the silver ball for a soul,
Died dreaming in that beggar's breast, before he could awake from the dust.     

Socketless and Sailor

 [Poetry], Constellations in December  Comments Off on Socketless and Sailor
Aug 262011
Socketless and sailor 
In the world's winded veins 
Scented genesis and coffinsilk 
I mock the soberest cockerel 
Diving from the prism-spitting 
Pinnacle of the world's mast 
Uselessly singing 
And rant like a wronged girl 
All my sweetest notes 
Over ignorant houses 
Slumbered in death and morning light. 
Out of the closeted shout this echo beats 
Features of a sinning man on tin 
More pressed to anguish in a dial's sigh 
Than any victim of time heretically cried 
Has been bludgeoned by suns 
Or a pauper's bliss been 
Crimped in a penny's fear 
Or any tale of the world 
Cauled in a scorpion's sting 
Has twisted its smile on a man's side 
Or any climbed tirade 
Spoken in wishes 
That nature's weary fabulist 
Set down. 
Graveturning in wishes 
As a wish is a kiss 
My manbones shriek 
In blooded inks 
Out of a rage welled and calmed 
As any bird's ratcheted turn 
Over the thumbing sea at dawn 
Crawls at clouds 
In inching desire as each wingbeat clips 
Over measured cessations 
Chewing ships and bones to flour. 
Out of each brick 
The cold dawn shakes 
And each root tooth of daisies 
Cragged in the fingering spring 
Floods pulse and fever 
To ramshackle gods agog 
As saints in whispers 
Each aghast their closed wings keep 
Singing of statuary 
And the boiling joy 
Of the devil's boyish kiss. 
So I this saintly mort cry down 
And each nailed lip kiss 
Quagmired in hatred 
Tried and hung, on pentecostal cross and hatch 
Birthing the blood plant 
Insisting in stitches 
For this world the word's wound. 
So I, crumbling on windfall, 
On sold bones and the tarot told 
Watch hatred disaster, man and god fall, 
And all loved things end.