Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Static


No birds are out today.
Shattered raindrops pelt the window aimlessly and
the white face of the sky has gone to sleep.
I like this two-tone world,
where the dying daisies bend, beautifully still
and black against the glass, where even
the deep vague humming of horn and engine mark nothing,
count nothing, tell no time—No time, for once, to tell.
I like the peeled feeling of rough fat scales
(from the age of monotonous friction) falling away, but
underneath, a
spastic heart shudders
rhythmically, full of
blood and
worry, stunned almost
to screaming in the
cold, harsh air
full of
mystery’s hands
and the rain and the cloud and the light sing Hush,
and the cool and the breath and the air hum Hush,
and the blood slowing
and slowing
to a gentle
throb.

No birds are out today.
I like the stark-stun shadow of murmuring gray,
each moment a hand held open.