Poet As Octopus
In the depths of my aging, I slither toward cover:
Sea cave to hide tush in, for battles have scarred me!
So favored by Grace that I know I don't merit,
Feel Love that still serves me in times of distress!
Evolution's provisions or God's happiness?
In the shade of this shelter, bereft of my lover,
Hang rhymes from its ceiling, reverse necromancy,
The eggs that survive me. I pray they'll inherit
Some spark from their parents, some breaths still to fan
With (the Future forbearing)! I do what I can.
Can paths forward be nurtured for new generations
That wrestle with phantoms arms can't get ahold of?
Is poetry progress (illiterate bubbles,
Like scum clings to seashores) an emperor's lace?
Can a rainbow be captured in what's commonplace?
Let me glimpse as time fades-out, a pearl's reparations,
Though one less an artist than aged heart on foxglove!
Grant peace as I weaken and starve for my troubles,
Force air on my offspring, stored music in brine!
Watch as Love gives its all! If my flesh feeds them, fine!
Long Tooth
January 30th in 2020
|