He can't awake. A wake of buzzards wait to start a wake.
Their drive is like a nebu coat; this finish will not flake.
Their metal beaks and stomach parts can eat his boots and bone.
In death he'll bleed and come apart till lungs and heart are shown.
They peck his offal pieces, rend a mess of peccant flesh.
When mashed, those awful pieces plainly being can refresh.
Cathartes aura lend cathartic aura, cloak of light,
Impart a spiny outline--shining shreds till things are right.
I left my prior self to die when ire cleft my poise.
I dosed him with a sarin-ade to drown unruly noise.
No dirge he will deserve, digestive tract has been reserved.
Disgraceful temper shat to ground--no bit of youth preserved.
This is a fascinating intimation of mortality. Your use of carrion birds is very powerful, especially, for me, in the second stanza.
ReplyDelete"I left my prior self to die when ire cleft my poise"...a line of biblical proportions.fused with that signature tone and usual rhyming skills (I've run out of superlatives...choose what you please).
ReplyDeleteI just love how you use words, quite ingenious, and sarin-ade is brilliantly imaginative.
ReplyDeleteit's like a psalm in.it's poignancy
ReplyDeleteWow, I have to read again. I'm so impressed with the thoughts that are wavering from the reading...not quite congealed but it's there. Such an interesting form.
ReplyDeleteThis is quite a visceral poem. Lots to digest here!
ReplyDeleteyour rhymes and wordplay...
ReplyDeleteThey peck his offal pieces, rend a mess of peccant flesh.
When mashed, those awful pieces...
class man
Death inevitable. You paint a true picture here. So well done.
ReplyDeleteI admire the clever wordplay and your skillful use of rhyme and meter. You are a wizard at it.
ReplyDeleteStripped clean by buzzards, is this a type of Jack?
ReplyDeleteThis is very deep... I especially like the lines
ReplyDeleteA wake of buzzards wait to start a wake.
and
I left my prior self to die when ire cleft my poise.
Jack,
ReplyDeleteI liked this very much, as I have an interest in vultures, as birds of carrion. I have studied them and watched them in an open zoo in France...I like your words, which effectively brought me on a journey into the world of the vultures...
Best Wishes,
Eileen
Has to be my favorite of yours. Wow.
ReplyDeleteanother masterpiece from the word master himself...)))))applause((((( great wordplay Jack
ReplyDeleteJack the way that you twist and turn, words folding, touching, reflecting--it's truly amazing. Always a masterpiece. Really enjoyed this!
ReplyDeletesolid grunge poem - You always deliver sir!
ReplyDeleteLive, die, rot, feed, regenerate to do it again. The life cycle, described richly. Fine, Jack. Really fine.
ReplyDeleteI was thinking of Prometheus (myth not film) while reading this, of course...this one sounds sad to me, grimly sad.
ReplyDelete