Saturday, June 4, 2011

show what can't be said

dogwood buds bloom. chimes
carol my passion seeking release
on the wind. owl and flight mark home.

I've desired what cannot be thought.
captive in words and routine,
meshing brain cell and muscle
into my hieroglyph,
my vocabulary of ghosts.

I've never set my shoulder
with unnerving malice against
the waves that deluge our days.
but strand me in the sea
and fill my lungs with water,
would i praise your name?

I've known the honeysuckle days,
hot days when a single sweet bead
licked from the fruit exposed
a door to heaven. I'd want to tell
no remorse, no fault found in other light,
but that's a lie.

bound with ash and blood,
yellow moons will reap their harvest,
the last hunger quenched,
grooving walls of sin with sweat.

shatter jugs screaming moon beams.
arise and perish.

copyright 2011 Charles David Miller

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