Rubicon Shores

In dustbowl toil the grey wind blows
Across the inner plain
And mirage lake in heat haze glows
To mock the lack of rain

Through ribcage beams these ancient chords
Hum their tune for none
For jaws won’t serve these wasted words
From a tin-ear lexicon

And phantom clouds translate the sky
From bone to blown asunder
Plasma curlicues sketch to defy
The eye its sense of wonder

Now you can’t stop your flight prosaic
On pedestrian wings hard-earned
Circling yet the pixel ruins, the Icarus mosaic
You find your thoughts have turned

To coloured flags you cannot follow
Armies on the march
Hats and hearts of hateful hollow
And uniforms of starch

To knots that cannot be untied
And fingers in the till
To hearts that won’t be unified
Rocks that roll the hill

And yet…

This sacrificial plan will not allow your pain
Access to the inner door
Where ancient creatures stare in mirror vain
Fossils on the killing floor

February 2009

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