The Bright, Small, Hard Gem In The Coals (Forgetting) Poem by Luke J. Holt

The templar knights with charring toes and melting soles on boots of woe march North towards the bridge
Battalions of moths flank in trails like bridal music
Making themselves bandages when the coals sputter upwards in scornful boils.
We walk this expanse
Glass slippers dripping in sharp rivulets
Amber cast the past forget
The reptile cannot thank you
It is differently brained and blooded
The arm of the doll parted
Cotton blood and safety scissors
All childhoods die indignantly
Life a tantrum in time
Moments just stains on the napkin
Tears just cells of the Grief's pale organism.
My petals tentatively return
These minstrels carry heavy hands like canoes of bone and do surgery on eternity
We'll bring the fight of the dying to dinner
A skin of geologic dust where undisturbed i amble in my dry broth and swell a burning bisque of blisters
these sounds how we wind
a wheel to stave the ravens
A squeak to make the harlots beg tearless in rainy doorways!
To chew hydrangeas in your ear and scream 'Birth' as you sleep
Gnawing on the rubies set in the tall clock's big face and leaking my teeth's red juice on crimson clods
Tomorrow's architects build with chalk
Our skulls contain shields and their swords are only paper
Their ink washes off with a rinse of the real