Denuded Rhythm
A digit grazes the scarred timber,
Rain hammers cadences no soul can limber,
A dog yawns, ventral flanks agleam, blood-warmed,
The rhythm coils beneath decrepit chairs,
It lingers where audacity desists.
Vapor spirals from a fissured chalice rim,
A glance cleaves rooms, precise, austere, and grim,
Footfalls arrest mid-stride, corridors dim,
The rhythm throbs within suspended hush,
And fractures silence into crush.
Sun shatters vitreous panes to glittering shards,
Shadows bow like cadavers, beneath guards,
Leaves tremble, winged ordnance of belief,
A bee alights, ponderous, rupturing bloom,
The rhythm burrows, roots in tenebrous gloom.
Children’s shoes percuss the stone—floorboards scream,
Laughter fractures, denting tongue and tooth and dream,
Wind lacerates a scarf—a violent gleam,
The rhythm enumerates the bruises latent,
It reckons the weight unbidden, corrodent.
Respiration escalates, arrests, then cascades with iron grace,
Ink bleeds, veins across the open page’s face,
RHYTHM pulsates inside the unclaimed void of space,
It excavates body, mind, and skeletal frame alike,
And leaves us denuded where all pulses strike.
Even silence convulses.
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