the chill of autumn’s breeze
whispers through the rustling leaves
the last of summer’s songbirds warble
warnings of the coming freeze
~ I was certain I’d enjoy the silence ~
the great flocks have long taken flight
my synesthetic heart, barely alight
a rainbow fire that once filled the sky
but a cipher in the grey winter blight
It is absurd in a dubious kind of way,
the need to fit in with simulated norms.
I don’t care anymore if the jukebox plays
a re-mix of this fucked up excuse for a life.
The nightbird does not bend beneath such sorrow,
soaring high above the smoke-filled bordellos,
She knows no fear of being crushed beneath
the one-eyed monster’s armadillo-skinned boot.
I lay here all but empty – shamefully waiting
for the scent of homemade soap, and
the primal thrust of a hot starched pistol,
Though I’ve not a pound of flesh left to give.
I’m swept high upon a ribbon that swirls
in the turbulent eddies she leaves behind,
Catching glimpses of freedom in the pull of her wake.
Below my battered shell awaits, unsure if I’ll return.
Dulled by the trolley’s rhythm,
I drift through fragmented memories
of past summers in Canada.
Lazy days spent at the lake.
Endless trees, evergreen garlands,
strung between water and blue clear skies.
Sunday snoozing in the back pew.
Choir hymns rippling through
waves of vanilla scented candles.
Those who have flocked here,
Explorers, seeking truths
for which there are no answers.
If ever there was a place to believe!
Even for the briefest of moments
before the colours turn.
Fading through the back window…
Leaving only our ghosts to greet
the chalk white snows of winter.
A weathered and worn windsock,
taut on the peak above.
An unheeded warning
to the hazy milieu below.
––
Conflated is the vapour
that escapes your cruel grasp,
devoid of oxygen we once shared.
Sharp wit and candor weigh ––
heavy like the suffocating
crush induced by the snake’s coil.
––
Panic bells chime within,
beckoning my getaway
before the coming storm, but
I cannot leave her behind.
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