This Heady Weight of Others
spring melts into summer’s light
proving wrong that still despair,
chilled in winter’s heart,
has corroded to the marrow
for even poppies bloom
in broken fields and shell holes
bones blanketed in shrouds of moss
trill of larks cross no man’s land
as pollen floats out lazy over fields
fuzzed with sprouts and turned earth
windblossoms mazy crisscrossed
blown like crimson tracers
cicadas drone their symphonies
calling humid waves
warping off fields like sultry wraiths
moaning at dead eyed cocks on broken weathervanes
cats, lazy from the heat,
retreat to hidden nooks
détente with bird and squirrel
water oaths held dear
water ripples on silent streams
tracing gusts like a rolling barrage of cotton ingots
heavy with odors of stratosphere, of faraway places
tearing at the heart’s windsock
wet bulb heat folded in cumulous
divebombed by nectar laden bees
crazy for the blossoms
soaked and sultry queenright days
a story, sad songs
decibels rung in high towers
echelons above reality
sung to tone deaf and dusty gods
skies clear of dark storm crows
now becoming past
soon becoming now
then slides to never
as photographs fade
at times it’s too much
this heady weight of others
moments like whispers gone
while standing windburnt on hillsides
barren and mass wasted
somewhere distant wardrums beat
our racial folie à deux...
Copyright © Andrew Foreman | Year Posted 2016
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