My Inanimate Sounds Poem, by Melvin James, at My poetic side

my inanimate sounds

from the turret of a spine.

castle green

white porceline of envy

on deaths deserted trail.

artic cold as talking clouds

shift and slither

more curious than blood,

what meaning this

where hides good-weather sparrows in a shawl?

here, no cactus lives

nor seasons flow, now one by one

comes and goes

one million epitaphs'

of mice and men.

deep-rooted I,

in my mothers womb

thirsty as a snake

benign yet still

am curious of faith and all who kneel

inside the halls that bicker bark and sway.

there are a dozen more who squeal

each night as sleeps my semen on a towel

I have walls to build

to navigate me safely from this suicidle mind.

behind all things surreal

there is no honesty in truth.

let the rain dissolve this bloody-dye I breathe.

no celebration days' shall seek reward

nor prepare us for our final meeting place;

face to face

with minerals and a mothers love,

it is us who brought us each untimely death;

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My Inanimate Sounds