Carrion's Redolent Ululations
Beneath the wings of the ravine condor
Perched upon my dislocated shoulders
And in the scraping of its scaled talon
I found myself a lackluster prey
Already devoured by drifting webs
Of the starlight's tale; a carrion
Putrefied in believing and unbelieving
And submitting only to an immolation
Sating verve in embedding roots
In the lost fathoms of a parliament
Digressing the fear that hones a man
Into what a lion would have become
Perhaps, averting deaths in cognizant places
And taking leisure upon cheap ryes
Spewed to sedate the thorough wile
Have I made a shack, shabby or not,
In this derided chance of slipping away?
With the died-out leaves of summer breeze
Have I made enough drivels to ignite
And char myself again in the gravels?
As the clock never swallows itself
And the sun never sleeps with its eyes
How do I subsist this hunger game?
When time would reach the dock
And the ships sail its oars to different currents
Is it suffice that I have been present?
Would that compensate the lack of life?
As I avert the eyes of the scavenger
Have I defeated the malingerer?
Should I nourish the famished land
Buried beneath the taut and thinning ice?
Ephemeral as everything goes
How do I learn to satisfy
And molt wings apt to circumnavigate
The same plane where you linger?
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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