All It Did Saturday Was Rain

Odds and over and over,

repeating the docile sounds of a translucently lonely heart,

a soul bound immovably so,
and so on and so on and thus so

Aloud to the vapor,

speaking volumes of transcendent nothingness,

perhaps to disappear less swiftly,

postpone the progress of vanishing atoms

Eradicate the stern stained-glass symbolism of those holier than thou,

thou shalt return to the soil at a tempered pace,

fertilizing only as thou tires of thyself,

the companionship straining, conversation waning

Scabs form faster now,

limbs weakened but mouth and tongue fail not,

as loosened locks glide past the eyes,
slipping to a whisper then

Listen!

Alternating chronically arid or phlegmy,

coughing constantly either way,

Say, "I believe in the wash,

ivory linen, bleached bones, spring's teardrops

Saliva licking down upon my upturned face,

all is awash, alive, purified,

dreams within dreams,

along sleep-time and wake-hours

Rapid eye movements shut out the ultraviolet rays
as well as moonbeams,

see me through,

envision a vision, a miracle's miracle

I'm waiting, alas I am waiting"

Standing rigidly alone,

the words reverberating through the surrounding hollowness,

and on and on,

a long pause,

Only the sparse hair and cuticles continue to grow,

lengthening with the new-found silence,
over and over

and ends....

© 2012 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.