Skylist: Two Poems by Scot Gresham-Lancaster - ²��, ³��, ��. �� 糿

Two Poems by Scot Gresham-Lancaster ________________________________ http://o-art.org/music/5tonesForSlonimsky.mp3 ________________________________ Fears Our Grace Relieved Jan 2004 When white is black all the bones change the notes are spread as wings above a storm The horseman acts alone but in fatigue meanders, filled with moisture When resonance is silence The tears of God become our wheat Broken bread is fractured; No splint for the will, the starving child What excited virgin is tasting blood as the drums are hammering home? What soldier's itchy finger scratching? The winded runner stumbles The skies are burning brightly Distance stars are mother's eyes Sails unfurled, filled with bile When black is white The sun becomes the night ________________________________ Untiltled Stanzas Dec. 2003 The stomachs of giant fish are dried to make the lanterns and the children sing the corn Waves are breaking behind closed eyes pinwheels from ether dance to strings unsung Tigers are wearing all our spacesuits the oxygen is slowly burning the roaring is unending in the diamonds of the night Drunken sailors are pissing into the open mouths of baby birds and all the clocks are broken for the final time A campfire of flame retardant pajamas ignited by safety officers in cowboy hats unused syringes litter the campground and the throbbing will not stop Break me, breaking you in Glass and sugar Take me, taking you in Photos made of stone The rhythms migrate with the rarest birds wings chaffed with open sores Crabs patrol the hallways of the broken space station hoping for the mangled claw repair kit The first in line is executed with the sharpest knives The surgeon is not there The last one in is the first one out when the condom dispenser bursts into flame Cigarettes and gasoline make the perfect match The spiders have the laser unit the webs are glowing ruby red The compound eyes of all the flies are flickering with wild spirals The moths are filled with dread Fake me, faking you in a house of puss and glue Pretend the clocks are working Brother Sun Sparrows pick the maggots from the dying eyes of strangers Love grows in dark chambers filled with broken glass and snow Ashes are falling on the pilgrims and launch pad is on fire flamingos are mixing the explosives for the final jihad Minuteman terrorists slaughter babies on Bunker Hill A ritual sacrifice of burning tea and honey made for the mother of all flags Take me; taking you to the forest of the night the hot wax melts across the broken mirror Remember me to the child that lost his way The guns and knives of broken dreams are whispering curses at your grave The voices remind me of the icons eyes made of spaceships and exotic beasts made of prayers and dreams Praise me; praising you with all that is holy the spirit of the mourning is breaking into light the passion of the cross is making the weeping sores turn to gold

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