Necropolis

Written by: Paul Sylvester

April rains over my body
like a dripping faucet at night
it forms a cold rind around my eyes
and fills a borrowed
dinner jacket
             like the double-chin of a
fat, sweaty lecherJohn.

this body's swollen and
the earth turns to sea
around me.

Rosewood; Oak; pine-slabbed flotilla
bobbing downstream
downup, down, up
like the sun-baked summer child
on a sun-hot trampoline:

a diver coming up for air.
We follow the bends in a
slow, unyielding procession