Lonely View
The restricted heart
shrinks bitter and remote,
punishes the spinal watchtower
with ghosts of tunnel vision.
Keyhole surgery in a dreamy eye,
so acclimatised to nightmares,
dissects each cold memorial
of the lids that cannot shut.
From the slitted earthen throats
flows dew and morning steam,
blood rivers course the wheat
burned black from heat exhaustion.
It isolates the feelings
and prods them with white sticks
and in so rousing
justifies the clear-eyed vision.
Blue porcelain statues reflect
patinas of desperation,
diseased with sunspot black,
the souls of latent atrophy.
What a spiteful lonely view
when gleaned from an ivory basement,
broke love in a dark bone cage
until sorry is all I have.
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