A sigh turning against the stillness of a battlefield where lilies no longer breed
because the rain drops like granite covering decaying secrets , Marx and Lenno taking over the world, sweet scented grandmothers holding up pyramids, a lover’s howl.
at the end of the field i hear that honesty takes bravery, but my honesty is repulsive, distasteful, unnecessary it seems.
my listener decries my words as poetry continuing that poets only imagine diaphanous forms hung on a clothesline. I wanted to share my pain, not all of it, only a segment, an episode, a flash, waiting again, even for a tip of a hat, a frown, a sigh, my breath slips between lips, again knowing i await nothing, but for the sky to dry up granite