The Dead Wall of Silence
The dead wall’s
Silent command
To the benefits of being
Speaking no more
Than as just structure
Stone in hand
That spilled
Rock and earthen sand
A statement that
Has forgotten
The original plan
Or was lost
In passage
But that chord
Connecting the building of
To the partition
That now stands
Is the message
In the position
That separates
What sheep
And suckled cattle
Cannot understand
But for the skill
Of a single farmhand
As dead walls remain silent
In this damaged difficult land
Pieces
Pieces
Fractures of fragments collected
Actual actions of schisms
Pieces
That are lost
Missing or damaged
Pieces
As splintered spectators
A tale within the son bad
With warm tunnel eyes
Love soaked, bloodshot
The interior of that verse
Lays small tremors
Of doldrums’ flow
Brushed quiet, abandoned, unreachable
Questionable pieces
That others have acquired or stole
Inextricable elements
From the performance as a whole
Performing as a hole
Buttons
In the back of a drawer
Absolute absence just
Pieces
Scratching Out Earth
Scratching out Earth
Iron fingers
Bent yet prone
Tilling seed to root
Brown ground
Found dust and stone
Broken sod
To yellow fields
Have passed alone
Ripened bread from meal
Baked from sun, rain
And sweating bone
Bean and stalk
Standing sturdy
Against the land lush shone
Wrinkled withering
From each November
Exhale blown
Tomorrows dust
To sleep
Becoming meals yet grown
Planting seasons
Rituals
Continue unknown