Posts Tagged ‘ Overgrowth ’

Height of Summer

The height of summer was marked:

the yellowing of magnolias

their pearly blossoms changed

the color of ancient parchment.


By then the mud for makin’ patties

was caked hard.

I was bored.

I wandered the winding trail of barren creek bed

east of the old Crescent tracks.

Iron rails torn up by fiends,

tall weeds born at the bolts.


At the poplar grove, where the gospel singers met

she dove underground:

a subterranean fountain.

The men wore green tweed,

their ladies’ auburn hair tucked in wicker bonnets.

The song was like yards of navy silk.

During baptisms, it crescendoed:

wails like Clymenes’

hands groping through prisms

of sunlight streaking the surface

a child gasping for air out of the cool stream.


In My Cave I Am Shackled

I landed alone

on this rocky shore

stranded in transit

to orients: eyes glazed

full of ivory rings, indigo tapestries.


In this cavern

your silhouette is emblazoned

a language on dank walls.


I am arrested in gold cuffs.

The starved flames simmer to embers

my bones turning to ashes

weeds growing in my cataracts.


The rot is my own.