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Death Metal for Seniors
We sleep hard against the dirty noise
gaunt darkness, the rhythm of rain
even on the inside, there is the same weightless beauty
pressing against the ribs, hunger drawn taut
in mesmerizing brutality
his words are damaged – and he an artifice of passing antiquity
can do little but scape the memory clean
There is little left to be said in the silence
that slices between us, where thoughts rupture into storm
and choke the light into slow, shapeless black
so, we watch his funeral together
on a rise just below the jagged-eyed
moon, her swelling belly a fleshy dusk blue
and we, held to her flame in the stillness
ache in deep and empty gasps
night finally crashes upon us
hard and brilliant
melting us into the snap of brute open space
where the heart, beating
burns into the raw morning
our converging shadows
Copyright ©
Mat Ignacio
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