Wednesday, February 18, 2015

the apostate

His hand extended, closed in a fist
'round vellum twirled in disarray
of felicitous autumn winds-
the hanging hide-blend flaps, descends
spangled crimson, for epochs astray-
an undoing of man and beast-
his rough damp calloused fingers strain,
deluged by stuff of gore and he
sprawls in pasture of obscure crop-
scythed by pinions of industry-
an oblique skinny grin when he
ponders both pimp and whore he’s been.
Lines both huffed and those newly dug
in crude blanched skin- he’s laughed and scratched,
knotting the pain with stained standard-
his quickened veins nodding in time
taciturn turned-on brain succeeds-
rebels in seizure, rendering wastes-
when caught by cruor, he grunts, relieved,
wiping shit with a hand-penned creed-
and fluid spilled from an ewer.

Air in motion hefts soil and wisdom
the patterns it weaves recall the lace
of a wheat flower cast in amber.

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