I favor not the days of months of
midsummer.
Then came the warmth of yours and of
solstice slumber
far and long enough to portray
a sort of ache I have ached
to confront like David.
•
Goliath, having finally fallen in fall
years ago
left standing merely a memory and
narrative which all have known
to harbor hardly any truth
nor any woe
but instead a poisoned crown of thorns
upon my head.
•
“Comatose”, cries Moses
along with his double wives
each of whom rinse my feet with blood
to merely watch them dry
and proclaim we’ve united.
•
“Go on, then, God”, they chant three times
and grasp my hands
and guide my eyes
into the warmth of yours and of
solstice slumber
far and long enough to decay
a sort of ache I have ached
to confront like David.