Early spark & saunter
the morning stalks
a warmed-up,
chilled-out
flowering,
first…
this heat
(more like a buzz)
all through the night:
a zephyr-frozen
spear of light
spits the stone
on a space of
wavering days
stabbing westward
growls for hope
through a howling gust
where the darkness stretches
thought & prayers
for old friends
I should’ve had killed
when the absence
was more pronounced
than a mere death
or hyacinth-
somewhere there is
a healthy break of ground
soaked in the blood of fools
hidden from magistration
for wayward stone
or belief in love
on a door-to-door
reprobation
smoking in the stench
of gasoline & Hades.
We must suffer
an accidental salvation
to satisfy this grumbling,
winding sacrament
of serendipitous events and
choice:
a rising saunter
scorching still
for a chilled-out
chance:
feeling like a stroll
(more like a run)
and grown to explosion.
Powerfully penned, Ben. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Still enjoy reading your idiosyncratic word play. You’ve a talent 👍