Thursday, April 24, 2014

chrysanthemums in summer

cold breeze comes from far away
lights of city burn low
light of mind is cold, frozen
across the prequels & sequels
one fly burning on edge of body
three cats dead in the hunt
the shadows won't let the city be
the sparrows won't let the tigers be
that's where it all boils down to:
circle out the mirrors
smash through the mazes
build the mausoleum of time, 
brick by brick,
till it all comes crashing down

then you seek, in vain, for the crumbs,
you pull out your raw eyes 
for they have seen it all,
they have seen the sun and the moon bleed
they have seen the stars turn into demons of relentless grief
they have seen the cold, sharp space
between the blade and the wrist 

but when they saw children from lonely shores 
as they stole oranges from pockets of lovers lost in salt & sand
and sold them to the wise clown on the other side
of the river,
the god of your kindness knew
that you had to scoop them out of the listless sockets
and free them from the ghosts that scream up this mad dark storm 
each time you kneel before the haunted altars of mercy and misery

and thus, finally, you see the bridges as they burn 
and the insects as they get fatter by the hour
even Oedipus, loser, had seen them thus.

and then you move out,
hug a huge, ancient tree
and weep
for the tides shall heave 
their songs of sadness 
yet again, and the little dogs of love
shall hold Shakespeare in their tiny paws
and wag to tender tunes of Aladdin and other timid trivia
yet again.

but you know all these
even the rain does.

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