Clockwise Rain
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In that moment, like a boy<br />
awoken<br />
in a priest’s arms: what must<br />
God be?<br />
In that moment, in a flurry of<br />
bellow,<br />
without tongue—I call out,<br />
but<br />
my voice, in tremolo, sounds,<br />
in octaves<br />
too high for dogs to hear.<br />
Does a killer's blood peel like<br />
old paint, or does it flow in<br />
multitudes,<br />
like rivers flooding a town.<br />
The killer smirks; shackled<br />
feet<br />
to hand, he's dragged across<br />
the prison<br />
floor each time a bloodhound howls.<br />
Author bio: Robert Michael Oliver is a poet, playwright, theatre artist, and educator<br />
living in Washington, DC. Co-Director of the Performing Knowledge Project, Michael<br />
performs two solo poetry-in-performance pieces: Embodying Poe and "Song of Myself":<br />
the WHITMAN Project. Although he has written poetry for over 4 decades, he has only<br />
recently sought publication. He has published his work in several online journals. To find<br />
out more about Michael go to rmichaeloliver.com.
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