The Rat

i wander through the rooms

of you, protean partitions

a fawning pass through

shadow facing, self effacing

.

find me

in a cloistered sanctum

an airless antechamber

of faded light fenestrations

spawning Lescaux like illustrations

ancient projection and flickering scenes

reality yielded, yet gossamer dreams

..

you offer me such squalid abode

a somnolent subterranean cell

lulls shallow breath, long slowed

as hypoxia calms the Elysian dark

halycon opiate memories spark

… with hermitic spores

..

something scurries in the sooty stillness

scabious rodent claws at my cheek

“how did you get here” i whisper

another fanciful figment, so meek

“why do you stay” say i

i cannot reach the unlatched door

indolent, i close my eyes

with claws at neck

i wait some more

 

 

Sacrifice

i was a bird

tried to launch from a balcony

but you saw the calamitous skies

rendered opaque in my eyes

and grabbed my gnarly wings

feathers fell: funereal offerings

.

when I was a python

i had a serpentine aspiration

to contort and twist into suffocation

but you distracted me with quail eggs,

juggled by a roguish marmoset

cajoled by such tomfoolery, I forget

.

then I was a leopard

i slipped away into the night

camouflaged in shadows

to a covert carnage site

later, to discover in defiant disarray

pierced through by arrow of curare

at last …. my own lifeless prey

Poetry Knows

and what does poetry know?

how precious a grain of dirt you are in souless soils

sui generis; sacrosanct

how unique words tumble

in cryptic interludes with frantic gasps of reason

and you surface under the millstone of everyday

 

what does poetry know?

 to cast a saturnine stare

hoping someone might be there

to marvel the mess

of words, dishevelled, undressed

fused with bile, froth, despair

to show the you of gems

tentative, uncut

 

what does poetry know?

that you are lacquered

over volatile brush strokes

raw umber light with flecked red ochre

on a mildewed canvas

still needing time to cure

 

give yourself to the place by the window and breathe

my beloved…

poetry knows