Grief Gasp (yet another)

 


It's moments this disjoining
where fools shave their heads
 in some lost symbolic gesture, so we

                          bang the hapless horns
                           blow the muffled drum,
                a requiem here where my child was borne
                             away

pulled plug in a city of dream,
spark and whiffs of ozone
mix in-to my metaphors as

                            the great drunks of history
                            have been known to do to
                            renew their amnesties -

no thing is as blinding
as the great grief goof
grabbing at where she

                                 used to be, teeming
                                 among among the
                                 loving  living children,

but now, no more


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