Trammel

Elements

The wind is knocking
around the capacious corner,
bringing with it
a farrago of madness;
there is humour,
in the elements―
it preaches the falling,
onto various grounds,
onto a promotory gladness.

The earth falls away,
sweeping clean the sapid smells,
of a teeming absence
temporise with dreams.
Unearthed, now, my footing,
life is a sacred celebration―
of our monsterous destinies,
of chances lost and gained, through
worth and struggles and schemes.

My way of farewell,
to the exhaustive shadows,
is to fall, to scab; words shall
elide into metaphor and matter,
into wounds and macabre chants,
that comes when the wind
comes knocking, around the corner,
to chafe, to bruise, to batter.

***

Rambling

One day I will claim you,
along with
the sweet fallacy of peonies
and the dark heaving of my heart.

The door closes to your
recreant face,
what can open up, your dissembling,
if leaving free is a finical art?

In my mind, love―the word―
is a palindrome, formed like
a voodoo ritual, formed,
when continents drift apart.

Nothing becomes of us,
and the peonies and our song:
frozen like eagles in an extinct
coat-of-arms, depart.

Grapes soured from Aesop's tale,
now mingle with my wine,
drink to the bottom of the months,
a badinage of days, bitter, tart―

Every iota of sleep endures,
the inkhorn terms of dreams;
another December decends,
and the caveat call shall start.