Earth’s crown cracks a chasm
Through thunderhead stolid as marble
And inflamed fissures glow to fracture
‘til anger dies – wretched, self-devoured

Such a night
That the billows bellow bloody murder
And the sleet sheers through the makeup of a fool
Lifting layers of grief from twinned, unfathomed pools
That reflect the insatiate sheets of fire

Here the orison of the horizon is undone
In the wilderness, waves wits and winds toss – unspun
To the tune that Tom, not to be outdone
Sung with the best and the worst of each lung

I am man


The last spark of evanescent sight
Is spent to scope high nebulosity
That I fancy rages, not with grey scud at night
But busses in colours of French ferocity

If white is purity, and blue stands in for royalty
They belong with daughters’ loyalty 

Alas, I’m with painful red marooned
Withered, writhing and winking
Unnaturally with an open wound

O, in a world, not a womb
I linger for a second, colder birth


A tongue
Silverware, not forked
Given hoary reception
Birthmarked psychically, not in skin
Named by illicit conception

Poises with practiced precision
It spells in pitch with borrowed voice
To instil an old man’s gross decision
To force a father’s pernicious choice

Look sir
I bleed

That same meat, simpering sweet
Turns the direction of sisters’ affection
Weaving words for their delight
Lustrous, curling, sterling, white

White, hot with passion
White, shot with death
Words penned in black ink
‘scaping on breath

Too late


You’ve overfilled the abyss with dead-march drums
The bodies are weighed with terrible finality
A battlefield bathes in the military beat
Homesickness seeps into every cavity

Heaven make you free
Of the grief and weariness of life

And because we must
We’ll go on.

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