10 January 2009

85│transmural

For starters, sobbing wretchedly—

the elder, one deep night,
shook the younger,
and suddenly aloud:

Why are these cities black, son?
Why this ashen earth!
Wherefore art thou rainbows?


[huh son, he said, tell me]

And on and on incredulity went,
stretching out in shook to another fine and dreamy hayseed of crosses, stars, and crescents.

I am your host this evening.

And heroically he was
off his medication.

With this pardonable droplet of sin I give you
a reckoning! Do not warn me!


[there is no trespassing, etc.]

They say it was a long night
for young shook.

9 January 2009