Dust Phrases (pagan domiciles)

Dust Phrases (pagan domiciles)

by Bryon Cherry

The man on the corner, trying on new faces like schemes and artifice.

The whole damn city is his hand grenade.

The myth catches an errant lilt out his gun shop mouth.

The sky is kind of like a reunion-

The lightning, a kind of rambling slave holder.

And what of the holster and its emptiness?

and the corner man, blankly his stare, into it?

I be loving how slow motion this overarching funeral is,

these words tumbled, as an aside, from a boy already 9 and a half years into his funeral journey.

God sings a Drifter’s song, hoping to make everyone more at ease.

“Under the boardwalk, down by the sea...”

The God song only sprinkled down morosely and was heard as rites-

The last ones-

The rites that cause riotous actions-

Like those rites in Spring,

Spring when the bunnies, now strong rabbits,

Do the majority of their fucking.

Man on the corner, pint of gin in black plastic bag-

Look at him lapping up the rainbows.

Lord, let this motherless passage,

Make this vessel safe until it can burst bloom like weeds in the vacant lot, where-

50 years ago a house once sat, where a few iterations of families once suckled at their sentient constitution.

Bryon Cherry is a poet, musician and alchemist. In poems he attempts to navigate the space between a solitary moment and the expanse of eternity. Born and raised in Milwaukee, WI and he is of and shaped by his home city. Bryon Cherry is guided by the magical forces of listening and love. His work has appeared in Return to the Gathering Waters Anthology by Vegetarian Alcoholic Press and Permeable to the Year by The Subtle Forces.

Image by Jessie Lynn McMains.

#poetry #bryoncherry #springtime #cities

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