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jerusalem verse

by feverfog

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1.
the roar of cars obliterates the sounds in my headphones 03:33
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2.
we walked home adoring 06:15
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3.
sick the mountains and all their vineyards weep 08:29
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4.
alumbrados 11:05
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about

Nilotic contours of warm wave and wind,
and her omen-faced countenance.
One could hear beyond the roaring surge
of the relentless blow in tempest dance,
that dread of Fate.

Are these shackles of Jerusalem verse,
or unchained visions raising life
from the sweaty bedsheets of a cancerous collapse?
That haze of joy and fear accompanies these final days,
when death comes never approaching,
but always delayed. Detained by some other excuse,
and history is unmade. The unreelings of the mangled tape.

The Angel’s folly is condescending to Earth.
His task is distracted, revelation is reversed.
“Sick the mountains and all their vineyards weep. In the eyes of the kingly mourner;
Pale is the morning cloud in his visage. Rise, Necker: the ancient dawn calls us.”
But still the angel sleeps upon the warm-sunned beach,
dreaming of starry night, lost in newfound potential.
Gone is that slow determination of action beyond contradiction.

Ah, the falling grapes of creation! and this white-neck as your face turns away.
The mad locks of brown hair fall like a veil, forever obscuring that gazeless visage.
Is this the face of another, false remembered, as the bed sweats and sheets toil,
or is she coming back to me through some transcendent faculty.

So I sit in waiting, still. For Angel or Egypt wind.
And I sit thinking still, in that night that’s drenched with you.
How we moved with coyotes in the wildflower meadow,
and plucked a tiara from the lively, day-soaked sod.

credits

released February 19, 2020

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feverfog Santa Cruz, California

as is clear in the sleeping and demented

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