Dreams and Days
“His tongue cuts / Slices of meat / From the hearts / And livers / Of those / Who would love him . . . ” –from “Between Slices of Bread” in Linda Sue Grimes’ At the End of the Road
I quote myself, well then,
I quote myself —
I include multitudes —
Uncle Walt taught me that much.
The man in the poem
Cannot bring himself to say
Or to pray about his own lividness
He shuts out spaces and commas
Lives in his own irrelevance.
He murders his own children
With his viper attitude
And nibbles the ankles
Of prostitutes
Who erase his will to power on.
You have seen him
Perhaps did not recognize him —
He has sat in your parlor
Sipping your coffee
Dusting off his duplicitous moves —
He fears death but not yours
He imagines you at the bottom
Of a cold, black ocean
Your tongue bait for the fishes
His Bolshevik brain conjures.
Your freedom is a fantasy
If you remain too close to his heat
Get your life back – get your love back
Where God made you in His image
And you are close to seeing it.
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