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To Mourn the Dusk

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Measure of rain,

echoing through his

protected slumber.

 

Authenticity locked beneath

his belly, amidst swarming

bullets of base destruction.

 

Rage grinding, titling his

equilibrium, shrinking

an ivory sun.

 

People play with him, give response

to his repeating voice, won’t abort

his fatal ebb and flow.

 

He sits with arrows under his seat,

trusts nothing but the iron isolation

of betrayal.

 

Will not speak to children or enjoy

a paint-by-number. Loves only

chewed wounds, impossible needs,

 

the drowned swimmer

of

his mind.

 

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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Our Poetry Archive” June 2018

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2018/06/allison-grayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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