Healing Rain
-
Blistering Tulsan firmament – milk the pasty salt -
The natural toxins from my smoky veins
(trickling within a boy seeded into a sentinel –
A Papa rooster crowing over foreign rooftops -
So repetitive – like morn – noon – and glistening twilight)
Again!Again!Again!
-
This somber Beethoven sonata (of)
Clinking
Clanging
Clunking
Mechanical instruments of chord sheets birthed
In my own cynical testimony
To my Two Nail Two Step Tango
(with a hammer in my Sun Bear paw –
Claws clasping the spiny needle head)
Rotund – oval – seamlessly spherical -
This illusive sweat tainted steel brands my palms
Like the broad side of a territorial bull!
-
Brother rooster – Papa rooster
Cock –a -doodling upon azure rooftops – to Madras' amusement
(A burning ball of yarn knotted into intricate spirals rolls within
Trying
Pleading
To, in a magician's form escape this entanglement)
This signature chains of inheritance . . .
Bound to fatherhood by parental tombstones
And Bordeaux ink blotches upon Fate's parchment
-
Time clicks away 5 a.m.(s) with cynical clout . . .
AgainAgainAgain
-
And amber irises critique each boot click
(each dinner plate and sugar coated cavity causing crumb)
Searching for failure – a hideous blotch (for you will never be HIM)
Clunk
Clunk
Clunk
(you will never be HIM – because his hand –
Never was with red finger-paint imprinted upon a cheekbone
So bright . . . translucent . . . terrifying to watch . . .
As it morphed upon a paralyzed figure like butterfly wings from silk)
It – oh it – it rattled bones between capillaries and nerves! (And I'm sorry!)
-
(But)
-
It's all faded into permanent hibernation!
-
Gone – three day of grace burned to ashes of rage – and puppy skin
Of agonyspitedepression and saltyteardrops on blue-collarshirts
Gone – dug six feet beneath ten dollar stones (it's all I had!)
Steel screams as it ravages organs (and it burns!)
And porcelain Hoods die of shattered souls (third degree scares of Hades)
Gone – all is gone – shoveled beneath rotted weeds of East Side trash
(but papa bears don't mourn – no bitter trails of salt upon this roofer's cheek)
(it's always hush little baby don't you cry – but there is no sweet song)
-
Just . . .
-
ClunkClunkClunk
(with)
An occasional Ping
-
(While the hearth melts the skin until clouds shade the damnation – and the sky weeps the unshed tears of a brother)
AN: Please review and I will return the favor within the next 2 weeks.