The Harvest
I.
childish recalcitrance
obstinate sloppiness
with no marked mirrors
no dusk windowpanes glistening in fainting sun
dark enough to show you printly
just what you’ve done
II.
the queen is dead
her heart
her mass
buried neath
Old Joe’s cross
the wicker post
the lavender garden
the setting sun
all has come undone
III.
drums are beating
leaves are ripe
in far off worlds
stars burst
disintegrate in battle
while at home our
hearts beat
what? they rage!
while we weep
souls caged…
IV.
you are too far-off to recall
trees in bloom
the breath of spring
the sense of not yet knowing
summers soft hand
winters woodstove air
the bellowing voice of confidence
with truth in our knees
when we stood for what we stood for
and it felt so real
V.
what killed us
was our conviction—
consequences made us something
VI.
your wishes have been granted—
the Sons of Horus have been capped
we ride tonight
to the house on the hill, let the spirits fly:
do their thang
VII.
on my morning walk
that fleetingly still moment
where the world leaves us alone for a few
I’ll listen for you in the breeze
curling and twisting all through Noah’s trees
my hairs standing-on-end
with the peculiar acknowledgement
of your ethereality
VIII.
waves crash
life moves on pitilessly
the queen is dead
her heart
her mass
buried neath the setting sun
all has come undone
I.
childish recalcitrance
obstinate sloppiness
with no marked mirrors
no dusk windowpanes glistening in fainting sun
dark enough to show you printly
just what you’ve done
II.
the queen is dead
her heart
her mass
buried neath
Old Joe’s cross
the wicker post
the lavender garden
the setting sun
all has come undone
III.
drums are beating
leaves are ripe
in far off worlds
stars burst
disintegrate in battle
while at home our
hearts beat
what? they rage!
while we weep
souls caged…
IV.
you are too far-off to recall
trees in bloom
the breath of spring
the sense of not yet knowing
summers soft hand
winters woodstove air
the bellowing voice of confidence
with truth in our knees
when we stood for what we stood for
and it felt so real
V.
what killed us
was our conviction—
consequences made us something
VI.
your wishes have been granted—
the Sons of Horus have been capped
we ride tonight
to the house on the hill, let the spirits fly:
do their thang
VII.
on my morning walk
that fleetingly still moment
where the world leaves us alone for a few
I’ll listen for you in the breeze
curling and twisting all through Noah’s trees
my hairs standing-on-end
with the peculiar acknowledgement
of your ethereality
VIII.
waves crash
life moves on pitilessly
the queen is dead
her heart
her mass
buried neath the setting sun
all has come undone