Drycicles

The dawning of day, a glowing haze,

The purple ever-murdering blazing Sun

Returning.

Forget thy glory my beauty, we’re in the slaughter dance and the song

Has begun

Hum hallelujah, come growl with me,

Oh humbly, the tune sung so old; like the curses it bites

Like confessions it’s told by thy mouth dry and bitter,

With the teeth

This and thither, with the forked tongue abridged,

Sing for me like a gargoyle

Sing for me like a snake watching close how I dance unabated and still

For my heart’s beating ill

For my carcass is bleeding

For my memory’s fleeting

For my smile’s getting old.

Without a sigh connection failed in whispered lullaby

Without a con, without a trace, the Winged Butterfly.

Its eyes just bulging up above

In tearful symphony,

Her arms just aching for the love

That she would take from me.

It’s just a song of give and take,

Of silent stormy thoughts, and

In the years of Heaven’s sake

She wrought the Heaven’s rot.

Come whisper to me lullaby

No rest and no release

No breath to ease this passing hour

That pleases he who sees; a lash, a gaze, a look, a spasm

The chasm of the eye. And in his ear,

Within that year, the dreadful ghost of nought

The Winged Butterfly

The Whisper lullaby.

It’s been a while, there are wrinkles now around

Your eyes, your nose, your beautiful smile. And on the bench the

Remains of the day, will we face that? You asked. We may yet, I said

We still may. Now there’s time and there’s distance, and a rhythm for sound

And the shackles that bound

Man to beast, earth and sky, heart

And arrow.

It’s been a while now, there are boxes in memories and there’s dust

In the chambers’ deposit, full of anger and lust. It’s been all eroded

Corroded

By the kindness of angels, those devils that pass.

And on the lake the remains of the day whenst I prayed

Whenst I layed in my boat. Afloat, or just the dreaming?

Will we face that? You asked. We may yet, I said once,

We still may.

G.