Ears On Trumpets Hill

ears on trumpets hill a maggots foot

hear not the breath that dwarfs my christened heel

for the scoundrel of the bug and bee not treasure lust

but thrusts as stars of plankton through my bolted ears

as distant as her fingers from my shield

the shielding wood where hides the cryptic chapter

to find to bury homeless in a clue;

the trees to shoulder arms beyond rhetoric

stuffed bulls-horn marching mayhem through my torso's lie

clamps suspect creed with handcuffs bald as osprey

still father to the urchin's flavoured mother-goose of lime

still as distant as her fingers from my shield

her sun as bright as I am dull as noose-kiss

flying jack-boot through the sinus of my tree;

I am here with guilt half century of torment

rising with the morning sun

to turn and greet your dawn

the chapel rests your sleep as I embark unspoken word

through chapters sixteen pages past your heart-strings

I have no ears for love to drown tomorrow

just a heart to trace your footsteps to the storm;