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| Dustin Pickering |
One Final Look
Give me all things,nothing,
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.
