by Dean Drinkel |
angst, art, death, history, lost love, mystery, seasons,
Cerberus bleeds through copper tablets.
The red skinned angel spews the truth
Of ages. Of wood: we sing hollow
Hosannas: too many fragments
Of light – flutter past the eyelids.
I wait. Impatiently – push stones
Through needle eyes. Honey
Combed monsters breath deep. Mimic
Lies told by cloaked creatures living
On shadow time.
The flesh forever green. Pillars of fire
Illuminate infinity. Here comes the
(dis)believer of the free word. Those
that stain us – rule. Hypocrisy of the
one that deigned himself God.
Later, the fly awakens. Time to leave,
The dream has finally run out.
by Donal Mahoney |
After Burying a Wife
Were she here with me now,
by the waist I would raise her,
a chalice of wonder.
I’d bellow hosannas
and whirl her around,
tell her again that I love her,
press my face moist
in the pleats of her skirt,
ask her to sprinkle
phlox on the curls
of our children
if they are with her,
ask her to stay a while longer
while I do so much more
were she here with me now.