Luke J. Holt
Warm Storm - Poem by Luke J. Holt
i lay with her pets in a trance on a snowflake
she whispers gales that limp to the gully of a dream that drips violet curtains.
I have zeros in my ears until she is there
yoking shadows that grind and gnash against the paste yellow of hard squash
((that which spangles the beach at night under lanterns))
an urchin sprawled like pale David waits for the born ease of a bearded minstrel key
my temple yearns for the crack of flails
the din of horror, blades and explosives
shapes that are the swallowed drops of dopamine making spirally hexagons dance;
my essence looms as your pet
at the foot of the chess set
i toil in the crescent reef of your nest
getting snagged on hurtful corals
that make my legs bleed in the cold surf of now.
i ignore the graceless wars of the world
as you ignore the graceless dance of I
he who sits and waits in gargoyle hunger for the lips of the hurricane to touch my ear
and touchdown is a blue gas that sets fire to apathy!
and a green fairy watches and grins like new money
and relinquished is all that was dripping with brine and rotting wood and the waifs of dead corn and the lives as vacant and ghostly as cocoons from which broke forth queen in amber!
lids flutter till churches grow forth from the russet sheet behind
my legs and hands barnacles
my head aglow with a name in Matisse-blue neon
and my shambling dreams beside the one who makes me full;
who forbids the winter of my stomach
and makes shells chatter on shores where i stand and watch ships of no anger sail;
the broccoli castle levitates behind a door of plated mirror
and the torrents of heat and the honeyed rain of the healing heart
i can breathe in you even in the closeness of no air
and storms that flood my ears with yellow joy may soon not quiet
and such hopes are diamonds
caught in traps set by thieves
dressed like rats
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