pilgrimage: scorpion

October 2012

 

for S.

oh, this silence, overwhelming
for sound, banshee footsteps, forlorn on the dimmest of streets
(running nowhere)

a wildflower withers, when sown

and these doldrums, simply crushing
for action, the solitude of hookers, scourged by sadness on the soulless sprawl
(infectious disease)

I feel lost, in the merchant’s harbor
the sky roars poetic, and my eyes, like the storm, turn scarlet
but my heart just can’t find the right words, in the cold

a free bird sings to exhaustion, when caged

oh, this darkness, and this order (so much order)
for life the bleak smile of glum lasses, wandering the night in herds
(gatherers turned hunters)

surrounded by a ring of such scalding dullness
some natures sting themselves dead