Aftershocks

Aftershocks

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. 

 ~Edgar Allan Poe

Last night the giants came

marching down the great divide

the bed shook the walls ached

deep as my bones

from the need for their

heeldrumming tantrum to stop

yet after in the quiet

my heart was as loud as if

you’d come back to me.

No Pope, no Santa’s helpers

no virgin mother here

in the dark barrow.

Another 

aftershock

winter rolls back in heavy

pulled in the giants’ wagon.

The rubbled black slag of the heart is

embroidered by sleet stitchery

that ornaments as it pierces silver faultlines 

buttonholes where decay will enter
and all be shaken to dust. 

Green love goes

fast as wilting salads tossed

al fresco on the crackling summer grass

dry as ancient flesh. No more

drinking stars in a madness that
mercilessly passes.
(Another.)

In a fixed
horrible sanity

I count dull pinpoints of

retina'd starlight bruised

bulb flicker in your

averted  eye 

pulling all round me the

sleet slippery words

settling the tumbled 

to cairn loss.

Another.

I picture the handler, polite

pompadour bent to patronize

these pitiful pratfalls 

her powderwhite face a mask 

for your voice

skullsmile of Kali

rabies dripping from

her green earrings.

I draw some comfort

knowing you are numb as I

from that killing bite you've

already received.

November 2011

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub