t e m p o r a l
d o o r w a y
Borders
| Torpid from heat Shanty drug, wood and paper; scant walls against tomorrow Eyes rheum brown, stick of a child Dancing firelight sparks the ragged cigarette Oily gleaming orange on leaden crystal of death, serrated steel Youths tendons tauten throat One practices Leap Advance Thrust death the way out Sea and concrete strive; one endures, uncaring, The other repairs against the night Unlocking the long-lost blood of ancient trees Haunting the world with the chorus of turbine and life Eyes netted, weary, stubble rakes oil from the back of his hand Blades beat the torrid air, echoing the slim solace of the cigarette coil, Spiraling high No words between them, only the pulse of the pumps What tales they'll have for home... She cowers in a corner after one's knocked her down Afraid he'll think of what she most fears Night dark on violent knife, his poor hands on their loved things She'd give them all if her daughter won't wake, or Gil'd come home, or she could cry The door hurts the wall in an instant, the other knows, the poor hand toward him, blade in fear Tumbling, but the rig couldn't be so unkind, nor the sea ever so strong Poised, one endures in terror, the other strikes and relents, too late Kneeling by his brother, he weeps, neither so different, Only their manner of mastering life Death enfolds the hand of poverty What tales he could have made... 5/20/85 |