Compost in Training

I am waiting with the mason, we are sitting by the barrows needing the permanence of such things. such sharp things. Won’t you lay down your arms and dance with me so? How I let that smile lull into stagnant waters in that altogether not – so – disagreeable way. So, won't you do me the pleasure of allowing me to dream that this was how it all had ended?

There’s a heft to a breath That reminds of - Finely brewed coffee, Two dollar chapstick, The tomatoes – of your garden

From blooming aromas, To tea bags abandoned - In waters un-waded, It seems I've over-steeped And left the kettle on

Your hair’s gotten long. But not long enough For you, to want, to tie, it up

Fill your lungs to bursting, And run for your life. Grasp each breath – with that same Ferocity Your chest burns with.

Let it plume, Like the heart – devouring With rapturous hunger - Caressing your tongue Lacing your words

It is something that ravages Even the marrow It is something that will swallow You whole

And in the end You will find. Not – but ash,

A mural -

A fox.

There's a trail leading back To that glassy stare of mine To that gaze beneath the boot That beating in the brain

The soul will be crushed, in conditions much the same

The sun's quickly dimming It's time to sink or swim Cause I think this fountain pen's, About to do me in.

This everlasting blaze, Will bury us – in time. We’ll need to tend to his garden, once we’re gone So let me be dirty, just this once. Let me feel the way the wax scarred your back - Place the gun to the altar Say your prayers as you brace your finger, Fire, And let the inhibitions leak. Like all the rest. Lay it bare.

You stand alone – in a field, A bat loosely gripped in your hand. Death on your lips. Staring a CRT down, You choke up - And Swing.

Smoke rises – circuits burst. There's nothing but dead grass between us,

The flames lick my heels, The Warmth returns To my face. And I don't think these feelings Belong to me, Anymore.

If the flood will come then let it be, torrential - May the black rains cleanse, the scourge we have wrought,

My roots have rotted from under me, I'm being displaced, I'm leaking ichor – The judge – is watching.

So wrap your arms around me Let ivy burst from my throat. And in my last, gurgling, breaths - I will renew our Vows.

The rot of leaves, the fall of winter The sentineled patter of rain against the shutter - The Willows partake in their sacrament Of Holy Tears. Dark rings now light, the infestation banished The sky overcast, in a graying melancholia Oh what potential you had - Weep now, here, in my arms May the red return to your cheeks with firm resolve. The Caterpillars aren’t worth it.