You were the fence god
pinned up barb-wire wrists
with a lonely son
who prayed
till he fell
and the constellations
were exposed across
a battered back.
washing the blood
would clear a conscience.
Gravel dug-in knees
palms in the dirt
the levitation act begins.
God forbid a helping hand
pivots my way.
The glory
of sweat on one mans brow.
The loneliness...
such a glassy constant setting.
the projecting blue glow from a television
into vacant unblinking eyes.
The revelation
of the present and future
intersecting at the sound of a metronome.
The houses heart keeps beating
its self to sleep night.
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