Gift #2

Gift #1

ITERLOGUE (8

Lured into a trap to blame
generic brand of anguish

mixed with random sticks and
stones buried centuries ago

by some child at play deriving
inspiration from game obsessed

with details left here by local
custom put in context far from

inkling of solace spread across
graves of those who perish in

ignorance like some tourist
of the hidden sea and vessel

of luminous sadness scanning
the horizon while missing

wind that shakes whole body
to renew itself each time

GLX

ITERLOGUE (7

Growing anxious at intervals
to etch a jagged line at upper
reaches that become nostalgic

above town clock losing shelter
in perspective across floating
rows of megaliths at each end

This chimerical effect long since
erased from the situation a man
associates with last steps taken
by the author of an old book

The reading remains shut up in
itself to reach threshold first
noticed in a voice which was
either too low or too high

as though an audible word had
never been spoken except to make
sure tomorrow will be like today

Here clarity is an illusion
no mirror image can replace
There may be one whose eyes
become a knife opening a piece

of living flesh to say commentary
as such will have a roof over
one’s head and a place to sleep

that is restless and confused in
the light of characters in doubt
shuttling around barren paths
leading to dreams of death which

served as a station of transit
for poets considered insignificant
by the next regenerated engine

for those disloyal because travel
used strange terms to make
contours come alive from depths
on page after page while actually
listening to something else

damn fault