Permission for a Floral Tribute

Permission for a Floral Tribute

Sharply, the sound of hounded teeth drooled shrapnel-
silently signed the dust; spoiling all moot-soil crops
Missed-hit their grinning targets, thawed and flayed at marks
that sagged ‘neath the corrugated sizzling, brownish boring sparks.

Mercy-actors chanted in drunken unity-
Raw banners of new regimes marched sober clarity
Only canine ears saw tears, heard the shrieks
Of ex-mothers licking saltless cheek-lips.
And form-lumps of flesh
Cringed to swarthy skirts that cleaned the “streets.”

Smiling, they let their offspring strew cheap flowers along tracks-

Sour scarlet poppies streamed along slowly,
tolled by toneless singing, borne on by old songs
that rained a single harmonious rant.

In imagined snow, earth’s sprung present
streamed unsightly shallow sick-mud, overflowed,
son‘s blood aloof- amassed in source to mould all
sweet constrict tightness, congealed in sudden sullen gain.

Pain was not the noise of screams,
Nor the looming flays of falling beams.
Beyond that void, a cast was set, wounds crested
afore an old noon’s death
in downpour doused, in moist grey dirt,
all mist and glory sweat.

The crimson bloomed, bridging drainage-greens
within the hasty murk of that mosque ringed loving air.

Send papers, or prayers or the useless old flowers.
With a praise they’re sent, risen, unbidden- a silent chanting vision,
a ghostly wail
Without a tear-

sure as the sand unflinching,
ever-near.