Do you begin with what lingers,
the torso, the keeper of form?
Or with the lower limbs
that remember balance?
And when a piece is shattered,
how do you reshape it?
Do you spend the better portion of a life
collecting what was lost,
or do you forge it anew?
And when you mend a fracture,
will the shoulder forget its old pain?
Will the head learn to poise again?
Will the spine recall
the burden of standing?
When you carve it
with the bitter chisel of experience,
will your hands restore the old scars,
or will your fingers mark new lines?
And when the labor is behind you,
with balance returned, the spine persuaded,
will it be as it was?
will it hold?
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Embers
A cigarette lit.
An amber flared.
A mind at ease.
The sky, a friend,
with calm sublime,
but broke the blue
with a whip.
A rupture
red,
Inside
he
felt,
spreading across
the land.
Just before
the end
drew close,
a thousand
tongues
struck the song
of war.
All that’s left
when he closed
his eyes-
the ambrs
burned by
War.
The Dove
It nested there,
as they all do_
because this is what they do:
one layer of dried sticks
laid over the old,
held fast by secretions,
generations of that.
It cooed against grey walls,
bouncing off prayers
for a thousand years.
Now from a sheikh,
once from a priest,
a warlord,
an augur
that read the signs
in the dove’s entrails
searching for hope.
The Tattered Throne
As I sat down, miles and miles away from home, trotting through my memoir and trudging from shore to shore, hoping to find one of the muses that I adore to face my darkest fear: that of filling a page and not to bore, I found an old scribble I wrote during the peaceful days of yore a decade before the war.
The memory itself had almost vanished, or rather I had probably banished it along with most of the memories that I deplore. I thought then to abort the mission for who would choose to leave heaven towards hell to explore? Yet the staring empty page brought me more terror than I could endure. So, I embarked on my journey, and through the hellish rabbit hole I jumped as I have never done before, and so I began to read.
I visited my grandfather today, a stern man who…
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The Book Of Life 