THE FUNERAL HOME BY THE SEA

There is neon light hanging there 
In new moon tangle upon the well-laid grass. 
And in the tree shades white as ghosts 
The lampshades sprinkle their evening stars. 

Inside, shut faces covered, sleep 
Laid out among the grief of flowers. 
Birds in the tree nests do not gain 
Unlawful entry into this of pain. 

Clocks unwind numbers, in candle light hours 
Grief wrecks its islands upon living flesh; 
No one shall shake that silence awake 
Turned back to stone by wet crucifix lake. 

Fine maple leaves fall red upon the roof 
Of the moist funeral home. 
Bat wings trap the sounds of hooves 
Riding Senora and Duce. 

Now in the storm of the hurrying breeze 
Time’s tearing feathers freeze 
As the white shut faces, prepared, leave 
Sailing into the clear ocean 

Above our waving hands. 
 

WHAT'S ALL THIS

It's a beautiful girl
Magnificent as Aishwarya Rai
Looking lovingly with her aquamarine eyes
out of the wide screen window

A green snake
Among the water hyacinths
Breaking to blossom
over the floods

A gypsy woman
With bats folded across her breasts
Walking the tight ropes
across the dark streets of desire

The broken coin
Redeemed from the rail track
That was just enough
for a cup of tea

The last supper
When Jesus turns to say
"He that dippeth his hand with me in the dish
the same shall betray me"

And like the blood of your murdered friend
Bobbing the Mississippi, Mahanadi, and Seine,
It just flows
down, down your veins.