When Geckos Call

~ pain like a glinting millipede ~

‘yearning for what cannot be’ acrylic on canvas by author

Blackplum drapes

hold

Gala apples

in a pewter bowl

spilling

opal shadows on white tiles.

Oh,

and did I head from a far corner,

monochrome

notes of a dreamlike

gecko call?

Yearning for what cannot be.

In these hours

quietude rests

in its sitooterie till

silenced angels rain down.

Then it flees.

Pain,

like a glinting millipede

prickles it’s way

around the headless torso

of our world.

Hooded in mock shame,

humanity

with a congealed fist

has defenestrated grace.

might it be remorse,

the millipede?

Tarred and captive,

terror-gagged and tarred

I watch my spirit

eat itself

( carrion is forbidden )

while in freeze-frames,

it watches

a circular combat

danced by albino scorpions:

My quixotic desires

stalk pale reflections.

What am I to you,

God,

that like a plague

of fevered locusts,

I see myself

lay waste golden

billows of wheat fields?

Rage —

give me another word for rage —

is my demon tonight.

I

was a child of light.

Weeping weeping —

send me another word for weeping —