Far-Gazing

When the wind wails like a mournful crow,
when the trees tremble like caffeinated children,
when the grass mutters like a spiteful spouse,
when the clouds darken like an agitated pond,
I see further down time’s rivulet
than the far-seeing prophet
who searches the sagebrush of
murky despair, the broad highways
palmed in indelible tragedy.
Spittle and blood sashay against the
hell-forces pushing up through
viscera and memory
elbowing each other as they
bowl in wooden sands, flailing
and falling from bottom to top.
Whenever my hair rises in salute
to mystery and reality, my breath wheezes
a victory of platitudes; nothingness
presides.

O come Bright Wonder!
Come and deliver
a sensible peace,
a smiling serenity
to tortured tongues
that flap with foul breath
and messages of inanity,
preambles of insanity.
The sun scolds my brow,
beaten with sins,
dejected by compromise
with facile temptations,
bland imprecations.
Release temples tempestuous
from the sheen of fallen dark,
rain petals floating on a windy
shore.
Sigh no more.