Borderlands

Your bones remain a spectacle
across the crumbling brick box
that looms, decaying, like a shadow of some god
A promise whispered when dawn was just a theory
unproven, and we lay naked amidst the remains
Broken, marrow dried to scarlet dust
The alphabet of tribute I write with craven finger
A sorrow I accumulate and hold,
a fist that clenches in budding iris
and waits for your complete destruction
before it ever dares to bloom

-D.B. Rocca, 2012

 

Clear Cut, Apparently

Faced with mounting circumstance and pausing in passing

Looking across distances and trying to convey

Desolate surrounding of your own invention

With cold point bland refusal to just dissipate

Searching for a glimpse of heaven

Thinking of the bonds you'll sever

With steadfast aim you'll try to convey

You will pray for absolution while you're thinking of nothing

And take it for granted that you're already placed

Grim determination of transparent texture

Pulling down the blinds for convenience's sake

Spit in the wind in a nonchalant fashion

Gamble the odds on suicidal stakes

Days drag on in indecision

Clear cut with each incision

Casual slashes now and gradual falling from grace

You'll forget about ascension when your face hits the dirt

You take it for granted that there's been a mistake

-Martyn Bates

www.eyelessingaza.com