I

they can trap me in the chemical dungeons
of my mind, yell at me with shrills
like Mephisto on a walpurgisnacht
extravaganza, der hölle rache

in meinem herzen brennt. flames
are not limited by the infinity
of hell, hölle, gehenna – ready
to melt soul and fate and limb,

teeth gnawing in dumb worn-down ecstasy
toothless grins of grandpa or baby
oblivious to the black vultures descending
like death eaters at a red dawn;

but there on the edge of hell’s burnt ledge
a common yellowthroat sings to the warden
of my misplaced spring a common warbler
song, prayerful call to earthy arms

where rain drips down in long-suffering
gifts, חֶ֫סֶד portents on a sun-dried field,
dire with its inside-out flabbergasted
yield of willful seeds and unintentional

disguises. the mountain lion passes by
with silent footprints on charcoal grass –
dark and violent with her playful death
paws. why, why must I short-change every day

in burning anticipation of a dead angel’s
cry of Impostor Impostor Impostor –
you boring hypocrite lecteur, infamous
brother wanting credulity and fame?

II

I cry out to the cold of the snowy night
with two hands cupped around my mouth
screaming into the steamy cold night
No! No! this cannot be the end, the final

End to the sleepy authorless comedy of
life, burning hot and dark in trailed
songs of warblers and buntings, bright
notes of heaven’s choirs hidden behind

the colors of songbirds, yellow green
blue red – this is not the ironic finale
of 21st century artists, folding their arms
and turning their heads in disgust.

I have seen the street artiste begging
behind the notes of a defeated violin,
fiddling among rock dove and tourists –
I have felt her song in meinem herzen,

my broken worm-eaten burning heart
worn out by the pew at 2300 hours –
I turn my head toward the stained glass
where the hidden choirs congregate,

stare at the empty colors around me,
whisper forsaken words of love and merlot,
laugh at the reflection in the ancient window,
hoping more is there than this Ennui.

2013