Quiet as a Church Mouse

 













~roar~


It began:

where rusty tongs clutched & pulled a dusty crown
through doctored smoke by cries made silent,
forced to hide from old gods in the dark,

where lost marbles, found razors, & misplaced
books of hymns & matches filled the early days.
Where great husks of heart & rodent sausage
stayed alive the memory hunger.
Where grave voices herald bunking bone meal
in dangerous machines obsolete.
Where cop & carrier pigeons crossed wires
to create a fear of phones & voices.
Where mother left bricks & box-cutters
for her fool boys on the outs & out on the street.

Ain't that just a hole in the throat?
Ain't that just a bloody pair of testicles?

Persons of interest & substance were served in earnest
energies of innocence through
gibbering galleries galvanizing senses:
saw many faces split with agony
alive in death all screaming they had come & gone...
heard shrieking widows organize battlegrounds
to detonate bullet points in hopes for revolution...
felt the crawling itch claw at the back of shadowed
remembrance & found them all at ravenous lunch...
smelled the cooking from a crevice & crept forth
for more than one release or laceration...
tasted righteous & horrified through the haze of daze
as seen through the eyes of slaughter,

where black engineer boots carried battered bits of lip & nose
for the remainder of the day.
Where weapons fumbled about in hideous sagging pants
and laughter was to be heard from every crack in the concrete.
Where a tenebrous nerve tempered a daunting swim
through piss & shit for near total immunity.
Where broken hearts & busted heads inspired
belief & a dare to eat the rail while fucking mountain lions.

Now,

days are lost to the breeze that sweeps the ground.
Now, the only tears are from chemical fumes
& nostalgic songs.
Now, even the ghosts seem afraid
of this forceful silence
similar to that of a church mouse

now searching for those
old gods in the dark.

Now everything is still
and dusty & quiet...

and it ends:
 

~squeak~