..
For now the man in charge gets what he sought;
An illustration. Perhaps we’ll plant a seed:
Don’t heal or steal or preach. Or don’t get caught.
And so in terror of our good example
One boy in the crowd averts his eyes,
Reads holy books. A look’s not always ample.
Once, a gangling boy upon that rise
I saw what comes of passions lashed to bone
And—knowing all they said I should have known—
I turned with ears unstopped to each extreme.
In three days crows will feast upon these eyes
That saw more of the world than most men dream.
Maybe after eating they’ll grow wise.
My mother was a slave. Disinclined
To work I plied my trade till just last week,
A veteran with one leg bound up behind
Living on men’s guilt; Jehovah’s wrath.
I’d limp home past the guard with my own life
Each night to my stupendous cure: a bath
And afterward some absent merchant’s wife
In need of vast attentions. The town I sacked
Room by scented room’s beneath my heel.
I never heard you speak. To be exact
When housewives went to hear you I would steal.
And now you empty out your sacred heart
Who, just before the blow, stayed Abraham.
Graves yawn. The dead are seen to start.
Wind wrestles in the thicket like a ram.
..
Poet's Coroner
Mr. Peperium
..
BETWEEN
TWO THIEVES
..
I.
.
We’re three dark animals they’ve finally treed.For now the man in charge gets what he sought;
An illustration. Perhaps we’ll plant a seed:
Don’t heal or steal or preach. Or don’t get caught.
And so in terror of our good example
One boy in the crowd averts his eyes,
Reads holy books. A look’s not always ample.
Once, a gangling boy upon that rise
I saw what comes of passions lashed to bone
And—knowing all they said I should have known—
I turned with ears unstopped to each extreme.
In three days crows will feast upon these eyes
That saw more of the world than most men dream.
Maybe after eating they’ll grow wise.
.
II.
..
My father was a mercenary Greek,My mother was a slave. Disinclined
To work I plied my trade till just last week,
A veteran with one leg bound up behind
Living on men’s guilt; Jehovah’s wrath.
I’d limp home past the guard with my own life
Each night to my stupendous cure: a bath
And afterward some absent merchant’s wife
In need of vast attentions. The town I sacked
Room by scented room’s beneath my heel.
I never heard you speak. To be exact
When housewives went to hear you I would steal.
And now you empty out your sacred heart
Who, just before the blow, stayed Abraham.
Graves yawn. The dead are seen to start.
Wind wrestles in the thicket like a ram.
..
..
..
Thoughtful and moving.
Posted by: Joules | April 08, 2010 at 12:57 AM