They that observe lying vanities, forsake their own mercy.
Jonah 2:8
____________________________________________________________
I have no stomach for intimacies
bred with contempt. Two lovers may as easily
entwine with regret
as with fomented enterprise.
The fickle pauses
they enjoy
are all just the same.
On any August evening, when stars
writhe above the sweaty atmosphere
and mottle the night, flecking
phosphenes of heat,
you are as likely to suffer
the concrete fate
a decrepit blacktop endures, cracked
by plodding indifference,
trampled,
beneath the sole of a faceless stranger.
Take heed –
weeds prosper in such blight,
seeing as they are fed by an uncomfortable certainty.
A diseased root always will endure
longer than memories
of indifferent passage.
There is no profit to gainsaying oblivion --
only unsettled arrogance.
You may traipse from this day to the next
inebriated with aspirations of comfort.
I would caution you to recall, though,
that most dreams end with the dawn.
Why then content yourself
to ignore midnight’s providence?
No, listen,
listen
to the chimes;
they groan
with each hour’s agony. Perfect Fs
whose tonal movements
winnow the bleak shadows of the present
from tomorrow’s approach.
Yes, isn't it strange --
it is exactly those same concussions
that permit time to remove its fangs;
that permit release
of serpentine constrictions
out of which
ecstacy
is born to pain.
Perhaps that is why we still attend the peals--
why we perceive
beauty and harmony
in the wasted minutes
that flitter away
without regard to the chaos
which suffuses all else in the dark.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
.... welcome you red under the bed 
