Behind dark glass
a black eye or,
frustrated in the green room,
grease paint, supply
a horizontal exclamation point
A full house quiet hush
of harmonics, layered waves
growing impatient:
steps climbed
ironing out
the amplification of birdsong.
A cough from the orchestra
on your brow
a two day march
from the border
oscillating frequencies
bunkering in
just out of sight
of eye-liner drawn
to a point
mapped cloud
accentuating the sweep
of the field.
Belief beyond the beautiful
six gallons replaced
in a shooting range in Sofia
with two jerry cans and a
singing lullaby
grab bag from the basement.
Choose, choose
to jump into clouds.
How lazy we’ve become,
masses moving as one,
tiresome as we retrofit
stories we tell our children,
calm them to sleep.
Our pants; waistbands
loosened to wipe sweat
from folds of fat that hang
in we-shall-overcome smiles
over history.
A call-to-arms, no,
time for enemies
for angels, a flame
spinning out of time
shot over the open sea.
The hush of petals,
illuminations of fading
hope folds last,
darkness, a ship
holding hands,
escape jump
certain to sink,
loaded with mirrors
reflecting.
That concrete should burn
pregnant waves
repelled, a causeway
in the unfocused eyes
wide open, watching,
a baby after birth,
blue lips, large nose,
tight-wrapped swaddle
working lose.