how long before our eyes found weeds
creeping up these doorsteps; did our footsteps
always echo so loud,
a setter yips into this californian sky,
by miles of kelp strung by sirens in tight-fitting ties,
we have hung
the sun from the rod that brought forth an ocean;
so you settle to sleep with secret silence
of stars and whispers, your mystery will be maintained
with a dagger and a twist, and a face like
brutus who knew to weep even on
mornings woken up, bleeding down the sky,
hands held out to hold
back the emptiness of a nation.
likewise steam, though voluptuous, is only steam
haunting rooftops while banshees shriek in the streets,
fog without memory or reason.
but the thirst quenched by moses still parches,
we belong to a nation that sows the rows
and rows of dragon’s teeth,
to wake with an ache to sleep away the lethian drought.
life was too long, too loud, when
we felt the shutting of its chambers, first the atria,
then the ventricle,
gorgeously red against an orange and twilight california sky.
[Original Post Date: 01/19/2004]