Friday, December 20, 2013
Upon The Grave
He stepped towards them to lay upon the grave,
Soil fell and clouds broke up to dust the feathered wastes;
So it was all right with smiling back,
Withering in the breeze was the embarrassment:
Together they stood with green strawberries,
Waking wondrously to be awake and jolly,
The happiness gathered its grapes.
He thought the weather was clearing,
When the fires were prepared by the beasts that walked;
Colossal dancers fought plastic bottles
Thrown at their feet to crunch and laboriously smother
With the pain.
He reckoned their pollen was dangerous,
It would burn and perish like a fatherly crop,
Looking me, looking like some satisfaction,
Little children grew so cheap and weird
These days, those ways.