Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

Eros: I love you. This leap, moan, this bleed
unceasing. Then somewhere you laugh.
Something jingles within roaring populace
of wounds. A grace persists. Though tethered
it sings. Loyal misfit days pass comfort between
us, by stars, by scraps.
Dream rouses me with a kiss, a blessing:
hope abounds. By wave, by clot, by flicker.
Bear this like a charm.
Agape: faces dirtless with irony say
keep the words back, healing is for
children & fools. The king preaches
agape culled from scripture & hubris.
Resistance chants up a bright endless
parade.
Dream’s wealth burrows a poor life, collects
its stolen fruit: my pen conjures hands
tending those who whimper alone.
A growl deep among trees, hunger or
recent feeding, the pond nearby a crazy
rhythm of watching bubbles, the limbs
above feathered with the perpetual
offices of nurture. The world’s pulse plain &
golden save among men where a coin
or a god or a hoary myth interfere.
Explain. Delude.
Dreaming still the kind mystery walking naked free
among us, here it pools & shines, there it
recedes to a whipping thirst. Now it throbs
irregularly, a beat, two in chime, more,
like our palm-shaped grasp, like a song of faith.
***
53
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005