My pockets are empty, no rocks for my swim today
I am armed still with each of these quartered limbs
The rope swing resembles a gnoose, or a snake
the mongoose was always me, miss identified
Eucalyptus tendrils squeeze out mentholated breezes
calling the monarchs, two come to court, tagging up in streamers
Perched in the sappy pines a murderous row becomes a mob,
volume and black plagues grow from the chain mail gang
Humming while hovering over a well, the nectar inebriates
bird and bee still in recovery, stalling in their stupor mid-air
The drum roll of wind, corralling the dead, noting the tenor of leaves
swirling in symphonic disharmony, sloughing and buffing scales
Laser beams between tall pillars scorching the dirt, releasing the
essence, crushing the spice revives, in particulates burnt alive
The serenity of the lakeside: The tranquility of Tantalus
eternally reaching, mute preaching, still teaching all of us.
Image credit:By Extemporalist (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
No comments:
Post a Comment