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Eight Verses
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Simon Joyner
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1
Midnight nears the clock clicks its heels
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And the birds go wandering home
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To empty nests in cardboard houses
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Built on vapour smoke and foam
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Where furniture and flesh court dust and rust
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Together and alone
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Like trees falling into the forest no one listens
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What happens in the night time
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After the sun washes its hands
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Of everything yellow light prevents
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From the dangers of the dance
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Of darkness uninhibited
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Do you even want to take that chance
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You might end up on a list of missing persons
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Black crows beckon from their ledges
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High above the ground
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They shake the quiet they've gathered
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From their wings and scratch out sounds
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Which terrify all passers by
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The truth is hard to hear once it's found
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Then they swoop like angels burned off Jacob's ladder
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The holy man announced his plan
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To turn wine back to water
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He was strung up by the drunken mob
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Chanting the time for miracles is over
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The wrapped his body in newspaper
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And burned him in the words he could not alter
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Saying unto a mirror one should never try to flatter
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Sunlight rummages the beach
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And cleans out hollow shells
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The sand flames sufficiently heating
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The shadows of lonely sould
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Walking on the fringes of waves
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Which pounce and fade farewell
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To spoil a hope which springs eternally on the surface
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The scientific poet dresses up
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His images with the facts
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He hangs on chains from certificates
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In silver frames behind smoked glass
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He writes everything that has yet to occur
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Has already happened in the past
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We elevate wise men by digging ditches
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Soldiers fill their pales with steam
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For bulletshell-like spines
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While trees live and die repeatedly in rings
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Which mark the march of time
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It crawls by slowly for those entrenched
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And for others it speeds unkind
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While soliloquies to skulls become confessions
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The box we would have distance hold
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A lifetime without blame
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Is to heavy for the skyway
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Without faith-chariots and chains
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Although it bloomed on an ancient tongue
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Nothing yet from nothing ever came
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We bury our answers six feet beneath our questions
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