Leda in Chains
The roots have grown in earth’s entwining pulse,
and all that’s left is sown in plundering pulse.
Words of squalor, birds aflutter,
consciousness slurred in time’s encircling pulse.
Absurd, this game of back-and-forth,
the silent shame of desolating pulse.
Girded by fear, she fled but could not
escape the spear of thrusting pulse.
Spurred to seize his feeble prey,
he drives to please his surging pulse.
Unstirred by sounds of Leda’s cries,
he drowns in rounds of violating pulse.
Unheard between the herbs and sky,
No one disturbs her stifling pulse.
Gravity is Light
I walk along the moon,
kicking the gray dust
of fallen souls
and in the distance
I hear the shadow
of laughter’s smile,
yet gravity is light.
the rain raps
shingles on my roof
and as life is short,
I speak with a wet voice
and watch the moon.
Moonless desolation in the ashes of lost salvation
The earth cracks in the desolation
of smoke that rises from the ashes
in search of lost salvation.
I drink bronze wine
and listen to the gnash
of a lone bird that sits on dried up vines.
My violin is broken--
the strings are twisted like nerves
that scream a word once spoken.
As walls close in on a moonless night,
I wonder how long my memory can serve
when the dead will still indict.