Monday, January 31, 2011

049: Spring in Luzon

With a contorted mouth agape,
frothing sermons for seconds past
and myriad mistakes
that congregate in whirlpools of shame,
I'd feel the pain of a tiny, endless world
dissipating in a structured void
of silent, hydrogenic granite.
Away, pustulate words
that never healed betrayals,
raked bone chapel, mine,
in a splatter of rearranged
gaunt icons of the holy,
a haunting of perfect ghosts
in self inflicted lacerations.
My friends of misery would stand tall,
proud like lead crosses,
as I'd absorb the nails to atone
for feasts of skin and milk,
to every place solid or dreamed.
I'd picture trading blood for comfort cold
to solve the riddle of war,
for love becomes the word of flame,
of throbbing membrane
in godly, infernal delight;
but the spirit whispers forgiveness,
seeping through the seams
of walls built of question marks.
For fire and water to be wed or gone,
perhaps as life requires pain,
freedom demands a little death.

048: Together

I still see him sometimes
in splinters of volcanic glass,
standing on my right shoulder;
and sometimes I fall back
to visit the empty rooms
where he used to hide and play,
now, animated only
by a desert wind
blowing memories.
Our blood, our tears fading,
melting into the night,
clawing at the walls
of a perfect nothing;
and if my heart was heaven,
I'd build you new flesh,
brighter than pulsing stars,
and if my heart was hell,
you'd rise to steal the sorrow
from humans' brow.
As you were fire,
I will be ice;
and as you were the word,
I'll be the teeth,
as I disowned, so I do miss.
Together in the estrangement
of concrete confines,
and the tenderness
of untamed flowers,
in frailty and power,
we'll remain the same, eternally.