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ISSN: 1941-4137 |
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Volume Six Issue Two |
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On Gray Erie's Shores So that the bridges do not weep for me So that my veins do not flood through the words I sing For your visage, the horizon of the pulse held aloft in my palms I sing To prophesy you as a worn veil with the stone of my throat I sing So no one may complain this city! without a tear of neglect I sing For your sparks about to pass into smoke I sing. Walking out over my voice I say you, shepherd of lambs and haruspex priest you will not be ignored in the beams of my cathedral for there is a monk in your belly who, beneath your river, hidden in furnace fetal in the soil's heartbeat kneels on my tongue to carve your name. I sing that name, joyful as the bow which is shovel. The thunder of my heartbreak is right over the horizon. From the waves of Lake Erie to the rustle of leaves they seek me out to break the patient spine of my tongue. I am haunted by my blood on your lintels and doorposts. These visions let me remain inside your necklace away from men who dig out their eyes against you. Author's note: This is section one of a longer poem. |
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