I am the beast that lives and breathes
In its own concocted season.
The sky above me scatters like the sands of a beach;
The moon is a piece of glass washed smooth.
Orion lies in state, paw prints left till sundown.
I die and turn around; my coffin offers no solution.
I venture into fields of sweet release. Sensual as I am,
I find no pleasure in the touchstone of experience.
Shower me now with impetuous sighs, you who
Cannot know the ticking of a slow, slow cemetery march.
Are you serious?
More than that and all of it combined,
Spun into a surrogate conclusion.
Don't you see, wading in your pool of trauma,
Can't you be a witness to the greater escapade?
No master makes his plans with more panache
Than the man who understands a sentiment unspoken.
How do you mean?
I mean, and meaning comes from me.
I speak, and speaking, free the thing not spoken of.
Cobblestones and building blocks
Keep you occupied for hours in your cell.
My eyes are fire and burning in fields you never whisper.
Censor your ambitions; you cannot hear the bell.
Very well; I retire.
Remove your tired rejoinders! I will fill the gap
With footstep songs taken from a wren's beak.
Shutter your peepers before you sleep;
In dreams you will believe what I am telling you.
My dreams will all be frozen
By this coldness creeping over me.
My friend, there is no end to it...
©2016 Michael Fraley
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