The Sea Shell

 

In this heaven shall they wait and all those

like us for you to pound your fist on the wall

and heave your head upon the concrete, to scrape

your knuckles before digging into your long lost skin?

Like your father listening stupidly to the radio

in this vault of sadness pending, as you tidy

up bank notes and shave for the last mistress,

there were so many things I could have told you.

It isn't love on the verge of the moon's darkest side

that locks those that ponder out of paradise. It isn't

the sound of night as it groans along and takes

out breaths one by one to examine them.

This ultimate secret that poisons the years

bloomed and blustered before it pried open

our mouths and eyes and ears, entered us

through our dreams and premonitions.

News and music and announcers whisper

sweet nothing into the landscape of time,

into the thousand years of study and testing

the ignorant and ugly ear.