The island intimacy

The sun laid down in the land of Nod
and the villages awoke amid slipshod
roans that knew no home
nor sore master to overthrow
before they died in building God.
A bookish people long bereft
accounted of no one address.
Cain quivers in the shade of his liver
that once answered the mouth of rivers.
Two long legs leap from under his shoulders
cradling the shadow he chases the boys with.
Where have the looks gone off to
that scared the pious parish couples
who laid and leavened pale infants
in the secret corners of their land?
Paranoid ladies whisper Kraut
tithing to the layabouts.
The sweethearts cure each other’s shouts
and blow on candles burning out.
And these poor people gather feathers
preaching naked in the heather.
The lurid pray and, raving, age
until they’re innocent as the babes
all the milkless mothers buried.

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~ by Jeremy on October 9, 2012.

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