February 23, 2004

• the scent of stale cedar

   

  The black leather luster of my boots
  Gathering dust under moth-eaten stripes

  Blue on grey,

  Are full of ghosts insisting

  On a proper burial.

   

  Did God grab us by the tails,

  Our engines buzzing and throbbing,

  Ebbing into the scenic backdrop

  Of blue peppered grey

  Popping and sending vibrations

  Like heated charges or swooping rivals.

   

  Beneath,

  There was an exchange of words

  Trailed by white-foamed specks

  Like the Channel lapping

  Where we heard whistling and
  Climbed through barbs
  To make our mark.

   

  When the gate fell,

  I was absorbed completely.

   

  I scaled the edifice

  Grappling for divots or

  Cracks like those wrinkled faces 

  Blue and grey,
  Looking back harmlessly

  With palsy.
  
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  Matt11:28

  • 1:20 pm
  • 6 Comments