Before My Prayers Layed Still

before my prayers layed still

as June became and felled my adult tree

infant screams for mortals with no crotch

bunched beside a rib-cage eye

while the hunched Stork borrowed an inch of my hill

before my prayers layed still;

 

of the city lights; of the morgue torch

of sorrow and a rain fist through my spleen

as June became the colour of my well;

how near the heavy crawl of the virgin sea?

through Hell onto the cosmic of the curse

striding with the weather of my brain;

 

I have heard the weeping of the clouds

casing my veins. casting the bricks of my blood.

is there ever a real God when it rains?

I have no steel for the wood-rot; nor the page

to turn with the golden death-Pike in my bondage bag

or to bandage the Beavers hands before they dam the fluids of my skull;

 

who has ever seen Winter wag his tail at midnight?

or Summer treacle her breasts at noon?

look harder for the birth-scar of the vine.

watch as the sleeping city dreams of padlocks for it's Bull

planting his stars on a half-mast moon

mourning a glass half empty

before my prayers layed still;