Colour Falls, Rises

Fall is the colour of annealed metal,
raw copper, grey slate, iron stamped
twilight, clouds raw, rust ash brood.
Evening forges light and craft, clouds
transform, a sudden glow renews
receding tepid sky; a rainbow appears,
stamps the evening miraculous,
a covenant, we hold hands as our eyes
drink and receive this revealed Eucharist.

Moon and Memory

moon wakes landscape to memory
in the face of identity we are satellites reflecting
worms, snakes, pale tubers rising in symphony
from chthonic rood; seeing mirrors tell
upon each of us; we join hands, afraid to howl

pale and translucent, we will never bend
light from its preordained path; we dance to mark
the spot where our foot lies. words speak. hands
slap. music mounts string, brass and tambourine
we tear ourselves apart, we consume our springs
of indifference, we eat our fears, excrete summer

we know this place; it is ours to defend
we mould this place into a shape of our understanding
we invest in this place, not another, nowhere other
than here, this place; we worship because it is hallowed
harrowed, it bears fruit though patently barren
someone told us it is ours and though we forget easily
we remember this, it is ours, someone told us so

the taste of this place is what I remember; the taste
of each other, my blood in your mouth, on your fist
I wipe away the regret of a moment ago and launch myself
at you, all thoughts, remembrances aside; the taste

soil, black and loam, acid sandy, salt and base, the blandness
of thirst, and the taste of dirt, is how I know this place

this place of thorns and grass, lush as a mattress, tough as stone
the throne of many a toss with thee; I know this place as it
has heard my groans, my laughs of privacy and deceit; I
conquered this place, you gave it to me; this place, you gave it to me

I remember these flowers as I wait to gaze at snow
I remember crystals as I watch this garden grow
I see a wave upon a beach far from any shore
in fields of grass that drown my sight; I rise, I soar
weightful, a thing of this earth, a moment’s satellite

the sky, a dream of far away
the moon, that mysterious land, impossible, free

heart attack blues
(a hallowe’en romp)

baby’s looking funny
since she died
got me feeling
like suicide
baby I can’t wait
until you speak
thru that rip
in your cheek

C’mon baby
dare to be mine
You went and ate me
out of my mind
you’re no valentine
you Halloween queen
now give me back
my liver and spleen,

oh, oh, oh

give ‘em back to me
no more post amorous history
Give ‘em, give’ em back
Or else I’ll get you
with my heart attack

people say you’re a pretty ghoul
they say they like the way you drool
it’s alright I’ll just lock the door
cause once I’m gone
they won’t see you no more

baby likes the look
of any human being
she’s howling you’re the best
she’s ever seen
how about this Halloween
you bring the meat
she provides the scream

it’s apparent to me
this mutual misery
there’s no need to talk
we’re beyond all that
just one last attack
I’ll have my heart back

oh, oh, oh
oh

The wall

Meet the wall.
The wall is the end—
deeper density,
soft charcoal melt into
metal door black;

the wall is grit and
corrosion and is tough
enough; the wall is always
painted red and lurid until
all colour peels off and it is
only itself, black, fading
into the end of light.

The wall settles into the way
of winter, first harbinger;
the wall is the back of the
fire, the ashes rise in the last
heat before the wall falls in
and that’s it folks, show’s over.

Sky crouches into curtain fallen
an extra foot over the ground;
sun lies crumpled script page
in the prompter’s booth, and it’s
not even bleeding; timpani pound,
horns blare down the last wall as
warmth is concealed through deceit
(indeed, we suspected.) “Sun decamps”
read the headlines. News to no one.

Smudged and wet, lying like
yesterday’s newspaper
in the gutter, autumn comes
to this—the sheet metal days,
the abandoned lot surrounded by
wall of cheap metal, and we must
endure even this as we survey
this decrepit landscape—the dying of light.

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