Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

xxvii. Bare
Anguish. I sing from everything gone by
toward everything waiting to be. Too dreaming.
Cry for what’s gone by. For a younger heart,
a lighter day. Lone girl on a bench with
her book of lingers. New warriors with strange questions.
Cry. Heave out the crushed & the worn.
Let go what cannot replenish. Let it drown
back into earth & air.
One night in a carriage I forgot every melody
but one. It kept beating. It insisted.
Release the songs of cracked matings, the woes
of once-stood & used-to. Anguish. Cry. Heave.
Remaining music will salve familiar despite the
tripping stars above, strange convulsions within.
As queer my stroke, weird my word, tis dreams &
tools of green shape the music, its arc & thrust.
Where dreadful & delight conjoin, the world
is churning wildest. Groves, cities, horizons.
Anguish. Singing to breathing to heart’s
steady fist. The brown lands within flame
with slant purpose, croak something like
hope. Too dreaming. When lowest, conjure toward
hard thrums of sunlight, green’s madness to
make, pink’s bursting rhythms—
Just hold close awhile til the music cracks wide,
& a new plenty reveals.
***
69
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005