flat.fish.flesh

Sharpen your knives for the feast of the year
and take heart from the slaughter of autumn.
Unleash the quick blade on stalk by the ear
and spit roast that fat lamb. They will all come.

This slow yielding crop, as daylight unwinds,
is bound to the land by many fine strands.
Its harvesting heart that’s found in these lines
beats, bleeds to this step as slowly it stands.

The dance of the cut cuts firm flesh and fruit,
it waters itself in the juice of the years,
crams pockets to bursting with September’s loot,
forgetting for good last Springtime’s lost fears.

As Jupiter’s jazz band play tribute to fall,
filled to the full with red berries taken,
in descending notes they send out the call,
cry “Celebrate all that months have given.”

It ought to be a full-on howling gale
that tears you ear from ear right through the night.
A rant at all that wrecked this loved up tale.

It needs to shout away till mouth turns pale
and rip to shreds the shade as fades the light.
It ought to be a full-on howling gale.

An unapologetic wind for sail
to cast your half-shelled goddess into sight.
A rant at all that wrecked this loved up tale.

It stirs to throw the storm right off the scale
and force a face to eye a lamp too bright.
It ought to be a full-on howling gale.

Its song is heard in midnight’s distant wail
and from a tug on torso zipped up tight.
A rant at all that wrecked this loved up tale.

Before it strikes take care, you’ll need each nail
to stand against the swell as waves take height.
It ought to be a full-on howling gale.
A rant at all that wrecked this loved up tale.

X marks the spot, on childhood’s pirate charts,
we sought for Silver’s silver in the sands.
Love from below, unearthed in two new hearts,
brought buried treasures up into our hands.

Right here’s the x, and written just like this,
it’s where we went and planted our first kiss,
drawn from that source, penned out across our page
and rooted to the spot of our green age.

Come lose your shoes and join me in the water,
I came up here to you a son not daughter
in other words, I burst, a naked flame,
still shedding still the sparkles, still the same.

This stubborn scratch records yet one more thing
and to your cross this flower that I bring
will lift new bud above with every spring.
Its cutting lines and rhythms we still sing.

One second is an inch when counting tock
as round his handsome face so ticks the clock
and whilst Peru is only hours away,
a place we can reach easily today,
no visit can we pay to our own birth
though he is measured by same turn of earth.

My self prefers the distance hours can break,
to smash the miles between us, visit make,
since soon the space between us won’t be broke
by silver wheels a-spin ’bout shining spoke.

You, thief, to blame for stealing love away,
have such green thumbs to ripen hearts and lips.
Your hands mark out the hours that fill each day
just as the rule charts gap between the hips.
Through where I fell in time to inches grow,
trip all about the world and knowledge know.