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The Invisible Truth: October 2012

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Saturday, October 06, 2012

The Rain's Shoreline

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My mother is the sea;
my father is the earth; 
a creature of the shore
I leave my place of birth

in the cobwebs of those who snore
he speaks, addressing no one
in case his words have some worth
open the blessed, oblique door

blank apostrophe of a drunk surf
the rain falls and hides false ore
it returns mother to father; mirth
rises in our smoky din, more

to come, pour it in a torrid form
shimmering waves over the terrain
mud, tracked onto the creaking floor
meeting the barren wood, reclaimed
and creaking under the dingy storm. 

Driftwood winds its way back and forth
treading the shore’s smooth grey stain
like a tango, forward and backwards
arrows unsheathed, shot towards shards

of light, splitting the horizon; aim
the hunter’s only friend, death’s train
stops in the dark, holding tracks hard
to straight lines plodding from a bard’s
mouth, a thread tautens, caught prey

spins out deadly signals, a spider’s name
echoes in the place where cards cut
amongst the music of the door shut
once more, evacuating his refrain.