Isolation Is Just A Word
until it is found in the gut like undigested pits
the pain a puss rampantly roiling over eyes
blurred beyond lines at angles stretched
into minus signs lost in quantum mazes
until it grabs at the neck where skin is unable
to gain distance along the spine where
tendons fire splinter down to toes
trying to touch tethers in bowels
found before dawn's hot breath
licks away sorrow off blades of grass
then leaves dressed in mournings of dew
dew that drops from skies when sun
runs from blue of heaven, so blue it burdens
the soul into weeping great prisms
strands of sorrows etched by rainbows
unborn arcs of hope they fall
as symphonies of landscapes contrived in
hearts until joy flays itself into jagged panes
crashes into driven multitudes
they descend headlong like rain
cast from thunder in clouds swollen
with blackness so thick it seems light
can never break to grateful splendour
summons for sweetness of honey on the tongue
tender coolness spun warm in strokes
passion sped by wings repel separation
swirl it into spirals swallowed by mortal mists
where the word dissolves
seals itself into indistinct places
like hurts we must not remember
and exultations we fear to forget
