Wrecker

it's one of those
train-wreck mornings
when no amount of coffee
or blue-collar courage can suffice
when the hope is that the sun
forgets to breach the fog-choked canyons
because the ghost behind your eyes
is staring backwards
at the space a soul should occupy
a place where no-one knows the time
and the drums off in the distance
sound like muffled battle calls
abanoned by a war
that would not wage
one too many
of the heartbreaks that
you should have saved
for the callous of your later years
one too many weak-willed resolutions
that your mouth would murmur
to the night sky, like a balloon
with pinholes in its side
that cannot reach the higher winds
I've had my wayward reckonings
with every god and truckstop savior
tasted poison and the healing
that it brings
the revolution of a year
is nothing to the rhythms in my blood
I'll be waiting at the station
when jesus makes his encore
 

I've been burning down the days
awaiting signs beyond
the vagaries of tea-leaves
but it's left me in the shadows
with the stain of ash upon my hands
from all the firetower years
my neck is strung with amulets
and ancient sanskritt verse
and I've been holy all my life
but never truly whole
hiding out beneath
the boxcars of your memories
some days loom too close
and put you up against the mirror
of the unrepentant actions
and the faces all reflect
the secrets that you burried
in an old tin lunchbox
deep out in the desert
with a letter that decodes
the private esoterics
of your heart

Reviews

[Gatlianne]

Oh B. - *hand to chest*