Unforgiven

Set on a dissertation painted ebony With the cancellation brushstrokes of despair; Night in her starless petticoats Curtsied on teraformed life Repeating itself in stammered facsimiles. Glazed by whiskey priest sermons Slurred and deformed in gin-joint churches, The blood of Christ mainlined the pulpit, Seemed to rush hour in the veins Draping red mist on the dream. A far better thing never done, Sacrificed caring and chain-sawed heart, Grit of numb teeth against the hurt, Ultimate reason for staying expired And turned to dust-blown vacancy. On the empty stoop with glitching lungs, Sagged and wept a hitching song Of desolate love in wasteland parameters Impeached and curtailed by feeling too much, Wept a song of the unforgiven. Would she ever acknowledge his true blood, How much the bankrupt soul aspired To proffer in worship of her persona? Unlikely, so in the hanging head of sundown Wept a song of the unforgiven.