Posted by Atticus on August 15, 2006, at 17:42:32
Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores
The lavender scent rising from her pores
Causes the alley’s brittle bricks to blush,
Pools of vomit and urine painted on asphalt
Ripple at her body heat’s sharp rush.
The leather-clad, fighting mad knights
Of the South Bronx all know to hush,
And stigmata on the charred church altars
All simultaneously start to gush.Mad Manhattan monks all make their rounds
Asking burning ashcans a supplicant’s prayer,
But they settle for a hit of Jack Daniels
When they find no divine answers there.
They gather in cardboard temple boxes
And simply sit in silence and stare,
All convinced that the hidden holy places
Could redeem them if they only knew where.From a fire escape clinging to life in Brooklyn,
A single salty tear hits the ground,
It erupts onto cracked and wracked concrete
With a sobbing maiden’s mournful sound.
She glances to where two towers fell
And just like that the sacred place is found.
She’s dressed like a banshee in her ragged robes
But, hell, they match her thorny crown.She recalls an avalanche of memos blowing
Across the Brooklyn Bridge like snow,
Bar charts and reports and office cartoons,
Where the hell did all those gospels go?
The south Manhattan sky’s an amputee,
Though a stranger would never know,
And five years later the land lays fallow still
As if it no longer has the will to grow.
poster:Atticus
thread:676793
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20060722/msgs/676793.html