Bride of the Outlaw Philistine

 





  Barbarian summer,
  broadsword whistles by -
  king or fool
  to bowing

  from once he stood
  on ceremony -
  a veil, or slice
  through open neck...

  the toning dark,
  the graining head...
  spoke in smoke
  to the lucky bloke...

  a powerless high,

  & born to leaking
  bile of Ba'al

  {she is a
   shimmering
   Jezebel doll}.

  Autumn flies
  the choking moon
  on thistledown tones
  of longing by,

  deep in the brush
  with thoughts of fire
  as crooked splays
  the banging bride...

  alone, now,
  bound to grips
  on slender wrists...

  she lays me down
  with a dripping sigh

  -maiden (or wife)
  rotisseries low,
  stroking with spit
  where no infants cried
  from the gravy shine

  with Action...harsh...
  the pulsing want,
  heartless throb
  of the killer vain

  washing fathers
  from the sword,
  or cleaving mothers,
  moaning

  {more.}

  Nuzzle our grind
  in frozen sweat,
  wintry sleep
  of vagabond weeks,

  no Sun,
  nor bite,

  in the resting ground
  of a stolen heart,
  a hook of wind
  through a broken mind,
  the leavened wheeze
  of a starving soul:

  (defenestration
   to the dogs
   or learn
   to separate
   those cowardly
   knees):

  the spring will sing
  a feathered lie,
  cawing & clawing
  at my leather hide -

  awake to the croak
  of her plundered sigh,
  bulging safe
  in the storming cloak,

  shooting the heat
  that cheats the rain
  or warding stones
  of the spurning bye

  barbarian summer,
  axehead whizzing by
  the time or choice
  to knowing

  where to stand
  or
  where to die,

  begins again,
  the faithless bride
  purging hearts
  of the severed tie.

  Creeping tears
  & stealing years

  but this heart still yawns
  a brigand mind.