Sun-Ripened Misery
I.
I don't observe
the day between
the summer solstice
and a midsummer's eve
anymore
I've abandoned the rituals
that commemorate
a shift in season,
my over-ripening years
and celebrate
my sickening sense
of hope.
II.
By day, I could apply
a defensive membrane,
an anti-cancer cocoon
to protect me
from the shrapnel spewed
from a blooming sun
but night permeates my skin
and wishing stars curl up beneath
like a thousand tumors
challenging fonder memories
with disappointments
and memos about
shrinking days.
III.
Midsummer crepuscules
open sour-lighted wounds
and drip watercolor ghosts
down the sky
leading my desire back
down
to withering earth
and into an arid darkness
blistered
with promissory dimes
and a thick, weeping moon
that can't forget how to cry
over nothing.
IV.
I still crave so much
the hope
of quickening molasses
and the warmth
of long, rum fingers
from fermenting skies
but the sun-poisoned aches
of famine and fullness
always alternate
a layer of sun
over a layer of sin.
V.
I'm contaminated
by an anonymous hunger
that spoils the wine of day,
and curdles the milk of midnight
I reap
love, laughter, happiness
the crops of heaven
but they never satisfy
always turning tides of emptiness
on my tongue
erasing summer sun
with doomsday shadow.
VI.
Give me the gift of Heaven,
a contentment sterilized coma,
a throne in the cusp of Gemini and Cancer
and I might wish instead
for a pyre in Hell.
Copyright © Jean Marble | Year Posted 2009
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