Rain Man

Deer antlers rattle to a fever-pitch crescendo
like the prison bars in a debauched asylum
or the teeth of a bleeding child.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

Backing out from blind judgement
flicking light on
light on
light on
You’re dreaming.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

But you’re still used
and being used.
You confused
a pure muse
with the mosquitoes that sound like sagas
of opera,
banquets of sound,
of killing fields
sorely vanquished,
and eternally renowned.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

You’re not unlike the wind-swept
so-cold-you-are-freakishly-fresh
bodies left
wobbling,
peeling,
as the moon falls from the ceiling
and the knock rings out upon your door
like ancient church bells over an English moor.
That metallic boom seals your fate and opens the room,
no escape…
no escape from fate.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

Eyes clenched shut like teeth
murdering each tooth
ignorant to the universal gum
that holds them together
the gun ratters, tatters, tears
the door nob that should have been,
would have been,
could have been turned.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

It’s not yesterday anymore
and it’s not tomorrow.
It is his story groaning in your eyes.
(that old cliche of deafening silence)
Your eyes pour as you watch him breaking your bones into hunters’ arrows,
dying to be shot into distance
livid,
gleaming,
screaming to tear into mammalian flesh.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

The fog floats up to the ceiling like incense in God’s gargantuan condimonium
and you see His face,
crown wet and fierce.
Perhaps the rain beat him into a rage…
(you never understood this man of twist and turns)
...but you loved him so.
And as much as it burns,
your heart still,
still yearns.

Felled like a wooden bird-brusher
you fall down the stairs of life
onto the porch of God’s chamber.

He has come to still your heart and soul
as deer antlers rattle
and the ants crawl from one kingdom to another