Neither Now Nor One Day Soon

neither now nor one day soon

will I show desire to the conforming moon.

the coincidence of parallel thoughts

twinned with the siren of the vineyard swan

weakens my pale dishevelled skin into something cold;

I have seen and touched the poets hand above my watered grave

milking the white rose petals as I lie in state

in sleepless shapes destined for the perilous tabloid pen.

my fading heart

as grey as the hairs on the flippant sunday storm

blows its blood upon the mourners crooked limp

whose impish mind still begs for pennies for the slots of my eyes;

the minted breath of stitches across my skulking ears

pierced with the torment of voices on charcoal stairs.

my half- mast soul

drifts with the morning mist on gallows fit only for a king

crowned with petulant thorns baked and bottled by his queen of chess;

a naked lamb for winters starving gut

battle scarred, armed only with compass and wilting rook

come sharpened hook or hells very own mystique

am I to die like a peasant in the pleasant surrounds of loves' early dawn

or swim with the pheasants' tale through waves of aniseed oil?

rich pickings for the flickering candles of tormented light

as I melt with the toxic wax with malignant banners of cradled christ.

neither now nor one day soon

will I dare again to wrestle with my thoughts beyond the condescending moon;