drop

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one jot in the ocean, one clot in the lung

hard -hearted departed still clinging to the bottom rung

i see you up there, wearing those crowns of jade-locked air

free for the moment, never know where my curse went

keep spending out the bric-a-brac from the golden coffer’s lent

i howl in the dark, hands on the ladder still

praying for a break mistake where I make my final meal

my people eat brown and choke on the ash

upending neverending piles of sorrow in our father’s stash

stronger than fire, more devious than song

this curse is bloodborne and it doesn’t tarry long

i howl in the sun, the black blood how it runs

bones on the abacus still flipping until we remind the sums

staying for a wave, an eruption or a masquerade

bring me within reach of the table where the bronze and silver game is played

i don’t have much but a drop of the ocean

furor is favor for those that replace thought with motion

what magic is left, i call on it now

riddle me seven, but six will never bow

strong are the gates , built tall are the towers

banging my way to the feet of the fetid powers

i’m here in the silence, cloaked in thorn and ivy

almost there and hoping that you try me

i’m ready to burn, spend gold on the turn

sick of howling at the bottom of a city that never learns

eight seconds of midnight, nine drops of my birthright

look away thirteen, i’m running out of hindsight

the moment passes and i’m lesser, the same

standing in the alleyway mumbling my  name.

 

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