Follow the Beam

 



Come to me
& see!

wherein the black
is our beam,

& this grass is brass
on a wild brown
musk of dusk
at play:

a starlit daze
along the salty way,
a stench on the wind
is waving despair...

a volatile spark
on sight unseen
from the open wounds
of a nightingale’s pall...

& pale from the crack
comes a hardened tack...

these drawn-down-drips
to dawn on stone
with that viper's gaze
in gravelly grey.

This Whiskey Jack
from a cul-de-sac
has tasted the lash
of a watered rose -

from an asphalt fool
to an eldritch tool:
{I dip my tip
 in gray-jay cool}

& my blood,
it blooms on risky flings
'cross the gnashing thorns
of your wailing fence.

Dutiful rangers
brood in tow,

so I pound a round
on their desolate marks
'til our rasping scamps
a snap in dampening red...

I’ve weaned on the glean
of a catbird’s dream
to a fog of war
on cliffs of green.

A sidelong grip
is bidding lip
to scrape our shape
by skin or voice....

yet we come to see

where the seam is marked
on this starlit map
along the brambly maze
to our volatile flight.

So kiss this spot
where my spark is dark
& gleams with the space
of a wayward place.

Come to me
& see

within the scream
of a blackening beam.