dawn trumpets

flamingo fires the sky -

day breaks and dreams die

You’ve tamed the beasts -
my lovely Lord -
the twisted troll
the chucky doll
the banshee keening on the marsh
You whipped me to the temple
(they say you were too harsh)

these cravings flame insatiable
a harpy gorging fatty flesh
i ****** the thorns into your eyes
and cackled as they bled:
behold God’s raving jest!
then found you loved me best.

like wild waves and wind
You stilled at Galilee
such savage ache and violent lust
You lull with tender potency
once more a child
quiet, wide-eyed
my head rests on
the Master’s knee

now i dwell
in Grand Belong
and think in song
i think in song
mystic thread
zips up my head
electrified where
gloom has fled
i’m heart-to-heart
and black is fair
i jete up to
champagne air
the dreaded
weight
of days
does not dim
this limpid face
swing the moon!
skim the stars!
shadows shiver
as I pass;
delirious
with God,
grand dance!

how do I tell what we’ve long ignored
the bell in the heart
the knock at the door
how do I speak with tongue too raw
to severed ears like nails from claw?

like tooth from bite
like eyeball from sight
yeah atom from bomb
yet all buttoned up
with Enlightened Aplomb?

all Buttoned Up
so suave and swift
dashing your slash
with riposte in fist?

like butcher dressed
in Sunday best
drips unseen fat on
his stained undervest
you chomp at the shells
of my words,
spit the rest.

give me a girl
a singing willow
weeping dreams
into her pillow,
stitching stars
for troubled times
for troubled times
and blue;                                                  
we sail with her in
pea-green boats
to Jumblies
far and few

give me a girl
a falling lark
who cringes
at her sordid arts;
a girl of clay
for pity’s sake,
God, for pity’s sake;
dolls pump hearts
that will not break
and switching smiles
of silky sass,
they feed on lies
like cake.

not so distant dogs bay through streets
an uneasy wind slaps at leaves
and now a wail-whoop of ambulance gloom
loops the dying afternoon
and even in the home
from my room
the dinny grin of television
and banging doors
a dull clang of words
and the beating of my blood
at small impending dooms.
Yet.  
I am held - for all that -
shimmering-still
a castle
in the eye
of storms.
Peace is not a white flag.
its molten gold enfolds
the floundering soul -
enthrones it into
a whole eternity of
untold quiescence.

when Death calls
at the casements of this mortal home
he’ll not scythe my soul
into the black unknown -
No!
with feathered feet
and honey-breath
will dance my lucent Lord of Death
i’ll breathe - aaah! -
in bright and velvet arms
here you are
my Prince
at last

day slips off
polka-dot dress
for gown
of onyx mink

her hair strays as
barbed weeds
yet she dreams
kaleidoscope slivers
amber gleams
fragile hope
her fragments
when all else
shreds in
winds

Moon two-faced
like man –
luminous mind
***** grinning
blind

a princess
in her invisible
tower
shakes out  
laughing
hair