Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Witching Hour

I.

The birds are talking,
Madrugador, but
they quiet as rain
clatters on graveyard
commuter trains that
shuffle under the
tombs of Manhattan.
Why'd you break your soul
off in her belly's
gears? Was it worth it?

II.

With moons for eyes and
mountains for shoulders
you hover over
your breakfast darkness
while loons swoon lovers
under the covers
of the Atlantic.

III.

The cock crow cranked
your croak and spilt
your bowels of
Tarot marrow,
the elements,
though no water,
for she's clever.


VI.

What did I say?
Why now do your
boulders grind and
moons gleam? I fear
no soulless nightingale!
Calm your quake or
meet your fate, dark
madrugador!

V.

Silence is the sea
you walk under, and
thunder rolls over
all waking wonders.
Darkness and day
merrily make
another soul
for your breaking.




8 comments:

  1. Wonderful. Metaphysical fun and factual!

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  2. Thanks, Andrew, it was awholelotta fun to write, too.

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  3. Oh my, that's was magic
    Camilla

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  4. Thanks, Rona. And thanks, again, for always stopping by here.

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  5. ooo... shivery and fun. i adore the line about the sea and silence you walk under. that whole stanza, really.

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  6. This is very good, and a pleasure to read. THanks for sharing.

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  7. Thank you for reading, ajlounyinjurylaw.

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