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Poem


legions …

of shadowed purpose
they rattle the parapets of my flesh
morning paints the
stark reality that lays like shards of
tea-stained saucers before me …
an iniquitous army of intent
poised to scale the ramparts of
all I’ve bargained and built
those sordid soldiers hold no
deference for me 
there is no honor in the garlands they
drape upon this aged castle,
only thorns of a sinister, vile vine
that wrap and wring me like
the fingers of a god without its heaven …
or its hell …
pray -
how should I lend charity to this day?
what compromise awaits?
I pluck pixies of pure shimmer from the
swaying, salted sea-tops
then cast them to my dungeons
like feed flung to fowl …
perhaps they’ll burgeon there
and I’ll use their bright to
decorate the walls -
garish graffiti to greet the ghosts -
an epitaph for the best of
my epic epigrams …
I pine still for the latent lass that met my
passions amidst these dunes
that seared my soul with her eyes
late-day sun melting within -
my hands reading her body like Braille
oh the poetry written there …
she was the moat, you see -
the beautied barrier around my dreams
we built this citadel together
raised its bulwarks here
dune grass, the only witness to the
bittersweet love made
but for one Burberry plaid blanket
laid out on the sand
that eager haste, our sole foundation
and the crumbled promises and vows I now
see scattered about me
the lonely, aching ruins
of a fortress …

fallen.

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