Screaming Down the Years
Friend caution in recklessness cast
at mercy of four elemental winds;
marooned to rest abandoned in
eerie thrall of empty deserts.
Tanned into wisps of burning paper,
dust-blown ghosts dissolving,
coughing up a storm.
In truth I shot the albatross,
hangs now her windchime bones
about my craning neck;
brittle, white-bleached they click
and whisper, canned laughter hollowly fades
into musical discord.
No blueprint, chart or compass
to autopilot navigation of
love's most ragged peninsula;
naturally I ran aground,
dry-docked, adrift and treading dirt,
classic lifeline weaving deft
'neath Damocles hanging sword.
All my demons are high precision engines
geared with rapier cruelty;
and all the while
throughout tears and smile,
drive me softly
screaming
down
the
years...
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