Poetry by Dustin Pickering

Dustin Pickering

One Final Look

Give me all things,
I hold the ancient lessons in my hand.
One final look.
The embrace is too simple.
We need intricacy
and the meeting will be fresh.
I have felt this one thousand times,
the windy wisdom and its sea of epitaphs.

Feathers adorn my entryway.
I knew them as Icarus’ wings.
Yet he is swallowed by the hostile beak
of Time.
Our grief is not recognized.

I suffocate with the incense of my breath.
Golden webs tie my mind in dispute,
and I reach for the hoop entertaining her skirt.
She is the brazen one.
The last arch of my forgiveness.

A bastard of sleep,
I am conditioned to be remarkable

and morose.

My Body

My body, denied an honest caress,
revokes its thrusts,
eliminates its magic,
pulses the muscle where lightning screams
from veins of strained lonesomeness.

I weep. The floor will dry my tears.
How do victims remember the crimes against them?

I reach to imprison speech
knowing well how love is like taming a horse.
My spirit conquers my heart,
and my head is flirting with its fugitive.
I limp across Tolstoy’s epic ages.
I carry my broken feet across the wounded battlefields.

Life is a golden garden I sleep in
after picking the most sagacious flowers.
I hide the treasures against my chest.
I weep, I cuddle, I contemplate.
I am slowly wandering the earth

like a lost ghost.