warm of sun through percolator cloud
waft of wind stale, flat on surface
all-fours;
mezzotint of sky blooms like an aged flower across the skirt of the dawn
lingering the acrobat hurtling
across hideous moonlight.
there is an exhausted sundial
in the feeble aurora. one Wednesday
yet all too many a day, tumble
of the calendar and the pompous talk
of clammy water over the pockmarked
streets from yesterday's surfeit rain.
i enter the hellish car fostering
the sun's fervor in the subcompact
like a tiny universe, constellations of
sweat on my forehead, a crumpled
carton of Marlboro in my pocket
whiff of dried leaf clinging to finger
this formidable silence across
the lounging Mahogany, on the road
treading homeward — caught in
wave of the next moment,
underneath the rain of a once tear
shed facing walls slouching towards
despondent sheets and scrunched body;
claimed whoever sees the
face of indelible yesterday, tremulous aspen tree dressed with cicatrices of old,
birds unraveling incarnadine wound from
upheaval of scabs, disheveled dog
naked without any reason at all,
weak in dog-joints and reeking
in dog-flesh carrying on his back the
supremacy of the sun,
i too, here, homebound and downtown
sings sleepy the reveille,
bridging the darkness there
letting in all aches and dangerous
playthings for strange men, open
the gates, mother, the pearl
of detergent I smell, in my hands shaped
cleverly, the rust of gate
and the saw-tooth music grating the
afternoon frightened and small,
resigned to bed; dark's afterthought.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
warm of sun through percolator cloud
waft of wind stale, flat on surface
all-fours;
mezzotint of sky blooms like an aged flower across the skirt of the dawn
lingering the acrobat hurtling
across hideous moonlight.
there is an exhausted sundial
in the feeble aurora. one Wednesday
yet all too many a day, tumble
of the calendar and the pompous talk
of clammy water over the pockmarked
streets from yesterday's surfeit rain.
i enter the hellish car fostering
the sun's fervor in the subcompact
like a tiny universe, constellations of
sweat on my forehead, a crumpled
carton of Marlboro in my pocket
whiff of dried leaf clinging to finger
this formidable silence across
the lounging Mahogany, on the road
treading homeward — caught in
wave of the next moment,
underneath the rain of a once tear
shed facing walls slouching towards
despondent sheets and scrunched body;
claimed whoever sees the
face of indelible yesterday, tremulous aspen tree dressed with cicatrices of old,
birds unraveling incarnadine wound from
upheaval of scabs, disheveled dog
naked without any reason at all,
weak in dog-joints and reeking
in dog-flesh carrying on his back the
supremacy of the sun,
i too, here, homebound and downtown
sings sleepy the reveille,
bridging the darkness there
letting in all aches and dangerous
playthings for strange men, open
the gates, mother, the pearl
of detergent I smell, in my hands shaped
cleverly, the rust of gate
and the saw-tooth music grating the
afternoon frightened and small,
resigned to bed; dark's afterthought.
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