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Jo

Friday, September 09, 2005

Confessions - a poem

Your lies mesh,
cat-cradled tongue caught up
and almost stilled

but wearied words,
nothinged with weight,
fall at our feet

to be kicked aside
or gathered into piles
as ammunition.

Ticks of time peel off
and crumble into bright white
flakes – marking our pathway

here.

The fast relay of tightening
pain that pulses in a heart beat
fills your thoughts,
and mine,

till all attempts
to block it out
are lost.

Your fingers grasping,
clutching,
the outward

over-riding effort
to reclaim
when sin calls out;

confessions barely noted,
mislaid, as through the walls
the voices leak
and footsteps echo,

cornered visions fragment
in the full-on glare of focus,
as if all knowledge could be
questioned in these few words.

The talismans,
stored and hoarded
later to be
dragged out – an evidence of deeds,
our crimes

whose surfaces vibrate -
ripples circle
circle out to missing edges,
shimmer in some presence yet to be

recorded.

These bitter tokens, strewn about,
are scuffed by pairs and pairs
of trampling feet whose
echo spreads – a widening stain
of sound
that aches.

Copper-mouthed
the hasty tang
tongues familiar teeth explored

a warmth, degrees unknown as yet
but measured,
understood and stored
a sigh within a sigh.

Bold frustrations
wrestled
knocked about – tied up

broken in with fantasies
remarked upon
pulse between us
sounded out and later mocked.

All paths
lead here;

we cannot turn away.

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