I carry my boulder, you leave it be. I will give you magic, I will drain it; I will sing you my heart’s song. I will break my cross and build a house for you. Decorate it with wings of many colors. A northern town will throw us a ticker tape parade and we will become historic.
It’s a conversation, a song if you would,
between the profane and the perverted.
A skeleton burgeoning with flora, overwrought
with the thought that this may be the last bloom.
My body heaves as the regurgitated ghosts of days past
exit through my ribs, it burns, I’m cracked in two
flowing seeping exploding I am nothing. No more
than an example, no less than a monument.
My ghosts are my father’s , my brother’s, my saviors
In it’s viciousness, messy happenings, and lost moments of wonder, if you could find that one moment of beauty and mystery among the darkly banal you have succeeded in having a good day.Keil Chvasta