Exit This Woolgathering

Autumn’s tirade on the Jersey flank is beseeching;
I could almost upbraid solely the season,
& discount that it is really an infant inferno

Cosseted in the depths of your eyes
That is cindering my insides.
It would be less tragic to point the finger away.

Your haven is a slaughter-house;
I remember it before when it was pristine.
Now, I’m an intruder & potential sacrifice.

Grey-tongue. Fictitious infringement.
You are terrified & easily led
To the rime catacombs of narcissism.

Kingpin – less honorary exertion;
For love there is a binding vow
Prone to intensity that you shake off like loose powder.

I don’t mean to pray:
I would walk away if I only thought
That prosaic heart of yours wasn’t haunted.

Memoir

Surface gestures mechanically derived,
Fascinating outcome of collaborating minds;
Easy anatomy if photographed.

It’s the tale that humbles the limbs to cool hypocrisy.
We look like snowflakes:
Iridescent glow & curiously shaped holes.

Direction un-foretold, yet, always leaning–
Animal inclination on the Great Highway:
I shift into drive & bravely close my eyes.

Blackout awakening – traditional stumble –
Gravitation back to my epiphany;
Once again I mold images & ponder

The reconstruction of the clay,
Take a step away & fire – now frozen
Are the affairs I lay before you…

Puzzled diagram of imminent move:
Reaction speed – deducted – here in the heartland
Dreaming up fear of what I could loose.


Appendix:
(Copious or starved, my muses stay loyal,
But I expect a seraphic death is in future order
For these words are dissenters in a mad army.)

Endangered Species

I wish a lock & key
To the palace of my reverie;
Earth-bound isn’t half the qualm,
Like crippled legs treading calm water
Am I in this diseased confinement:
Unemployed – their insects invade –
Crawling through the aperture of my pivot,
Gnawing on the fetus in my womb,
Becoming the womb itself.
Blame adores no entity;
It is true, I journeyed here to
Desperate land:
Empty art from every hand:
It’s a test to choose the right sign
Buried in familiar sand –
Sojourner, I’ll fail you, if I end here!
O – these broken moons –
That seem no fatality to housed idea –
Taunt my spirit with their abstract tides
Gravitating me naturally
To bed sheets of my refuge.
Flooded in my howling is the
Echo of some reprisal –
Who is turning my tears into
Translucent flames?