poetryrepairs 15,06:067

ANTHONY LICCIONE : When Death Strikes

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I once believed in autumn, the transformative power of death, would gladly follow in Persephoneís footsteps, ravish pomegranate seeds, suckle on crimson promise: I believed I would always return, always be longed for. I was close to springtime then petals unfurling, unplucked. Now late summer scorches my blousy hem; red tongue devours whatís grown too many seasons, renders a harvest of loss. Fire conjures its own weather out of Augustís ragged end. My hair ash, I fear the ninth month. Now Hades claims too much.

poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067


I From the front yard of a melodious morning From the busy road of a sweet Saturday From the moist corner of a heavy march From the back lane of pale winter We have come, here and now, all gathering In big crowds gathering in big crowds Gathering in ever-bigger crowds gathering For the boat to cross the wide wild waters Before the fairy ferry is fated to fall Under our foul-covered shoes simply too earthy II You may well hate him But you cannot help feeling envious- That business of carrying the diseased Across the River Styx is ever so prosperous The only monopoly in the entire universe That has a market share Larger than the market itself Daydreaming, on this side Of the river, how you might wish To be an entrepreneur like Charon A success American dreamer III Flying between sea and sky Between day and night Amid heavenly or oceanic blue I lost all my references To any timed space Or a localized time Except the non-stop snorting Of a stranger neighbor Then, beyond the snorts rising here And more glooming there I see tigers, lions, leopards And other kinds of hunger-throated predators Darting out of every passengerís heart Running amuck around us As if released from a huge cage As if in a dreamland

poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067

When Death Strikes

When Death strikes, I hope to not be living only for myself, I hope it doesn't find me drinking with the fish. But foremost - Death don't come while I'm in the bedroom entertaining my wife, in the heat of the night- unable to open the window. Tossing in boredom on the lumpy side of the bed, wishing, hoping, praying Death will find that someone who stole the screen from out of my window.

poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067

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