See How They Run

 
 
 
 
 
 
Early spark & saunter
 
the morning stalks
 
a warmed-up,
chilled-out
flowering,  
first...
 
this heat
(more like a buzz)
all through the night:
 
a zephyr-frozen
spear of light
spits the heart
on a space of
wavering
~time & daze~
stabbing westward
 
growls for hope
through a howling gust
where the darkness stretches
thought & prayers
for old friends
from ancient days
you should've had killed
when the absence
was more pronounced
than mere death
or hyacinth-
 
somewhere there is
a healthy break of ground
soaked in the blood of fools
hidden from the magistration
of winged stone
or belief in love
for a door-to-door  
reprobation
smoking in the stench
of gasoline & Hades.
 
We must suffer
an accidental salvation
to satisfy this grumbling,
winding sacrament
of serendipitous events and
 
choice:
 
a rising saunter
scorching still
for a chilled-out
 
chance:
 
feeling like a stroll
(more like a run)
 
and grown to explosion.