Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

xx. Bound
The green world persists snarl and hum.
What blooms keeps and embodies its day.
Breath a choiceless pully. Flow a making
of tide and will. Released in moonlight
to greater sobriety, reckon what doesn’t
cower.
She nears again, drowning magick, verdant
tug. I call this nobody’s song against
her coming maraud.
Memory charges the present with its woe,
its sickly tale, its consumptive caterwaul
for some greater kind of devotion, love without
breath, prickless passion, a wider world’s
womb. Green traded for a promise, some
curved intent. Reckon most who sings for noone.
She nears again like a butterfly’s wing across a
glaring fell hour. The several dumb melodies of want.
Something alights me, a word, a strum,
green, taut, ablaze for its time. The making
persists, through rust, through fade. Breathing
for the verdant within, give to sadness its
song. Hunger its flicker. Desire its dominion.
Ecstasy its chance.
What’s bleed will bloom again because
it can, because it does. She nears again
& I divide against myself. Make ready
for furies unknown.
***
61
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005