continued throes by you my fight and if I should happen on a phrase
tonight that chimes across our chasm; then delight
your breaking love, crush my attar glass smeared with petals you tight lipped bride
altared in a veiled moment rushed and coupled by ennobled vaults,
the priest, wanton, rails behind the host indulgent behind his religious screen
beckoning you now to the confessional as your lily white complexion fails
to do full honour to the eternal word a thankless lust has undone your will
spit on your shapeless creed.
Once there was a weighting for a capital life, there have been many, in the sound of a key behind footsteps on the concrete stairwell while I am waiting on the tower block escape.
There is a need and will to unclip wings tolerance does not believe in acceptance here because there, in the mind, is the realm as beautiful as the bodega barrels punched in some Spanish no tomorrow’s bar down from the sound echoing away now clutched to the hand rail snake into the pram and tip-bin cellar.
There is a chance and ambiguity fates, reminders and remainders of a love gone past but there must be a way to capture what is now already and go the way to beatification of the soul as if there was a chart strangling me.
What happens when clouds laugh at you and I’m back to the old tower where I cool a brain babbling in a red medium lungs clouded with smoke, a hand that trembles like a graphomane, those repeated chords like a stuck gramophone playing over and over all through the night a disgust, a search for a resolution is it from the heart, brain or gut?
I need mercenaries to fight this war like the ones on the TV news but I revert to the status quo to seek a truth that hides in a book, a word, or smile
… but woken up in some yard ward or flat these very symbols wait by day with yellow-brown teeth of black dogs under the laburnum (yellow, leafless in the spring grass) snarl under the kissing gorse and poison tree behind the shadow waits for a telling sign I rush around the corners into a pastel grid of acacia and magnolia streets still looking for you carpeting a fright filled footfall back to our district where every house is a museum of follies looking blindly for a harbour which I can claim for an even hour which becomes the map for the next day and the only way out is frantic chiseling.
Bio: Phillip’s poems have appeared in a number of magazines including: All Poetry, Asian Signature, Tripod, Miracle Magazine, Suisun Valley Review and Wilderness House Literary Journal. He currently lives in Prague.