Ten more minutes before the train arrives
at the station, the terminus. At the one
solitary point where I will find myself
in ten more minutes. A journey
will be complete. A passage
that seemed endless, a travail
that seemed pointless, after
I realized that the assumed purpose
what not what I'd expected
with ten more minutes to go
until my arrival, I want to go on.
Narratives of ruthless lust and never slaked desire
gush unbidden from the love abscessed pen
that has forgotten the gulf between
the tender touch and the ripped flesh,
so lost in her own shame,
poisoned b regret and yet still inside
a young child cries without surcease.
And the words flow forth on a tactless
waste of white that would but wed the lovers
twain when nothing would release the shadows
and the shade by the spring at dawn.
Let the morning sun shine around me,
burn me, burn the terrors of the night
that cling as hoary frost on the hem--
wind blown dust that haunts every crevasse
of flesh--cling as sticky cobs that web
my hair and halo this shrouded form.
Let it shine and burn and drive these
thoughts that rise unbidden from memory;
distorted lens and subtle liar.