Beyond The Pale

A Poem, The Words They Build Up Like

These words they build up like

flood waters behind that dam where

as children we used to play in winter.

The river frozen climbing banks, we’d

drag our sled to the edge and stare

down the snowcapped spillway,

declaim the honor of steaming coco

to whomever braved first decent.

Denotata mounting, waves push tongue

into barriers searching out slightest

dry rot, the narrowest gap. Finding

void they push into space between

statement and thought to scoop away

pebble and stone joined years before

when the mixer shorted and I’d take a

shock every time he called for more

mortar to stack the bricks, me dancing angry

from naked hot wires.

Defensive banks fragment before the torrent

widening torn earth one quarts grain

crystal after lime dust cloud

the last fragment of reticent self-

preservation slides down the sloping

concrete escarpment and I call your name

with a voice you’ve never heard.

Spray widens invisible

cracks and sends great chunks careening

off precipice toward parched

valley below where just past those white

levies I lean against the wall we built and

take your gloved hand to whisper,

“I love you,” watching liquid turn

solid stone to gray cloaked sky.

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November 2, 2009 - Posted by | Poems

3 Comments »

  1. David. I love this.

    Comment by Rachel B. | November 12, 2009 | Reply

  2. This is good. A gut hard like like poetry should be.

    Comment by wordorgy | November 30, 2009 | Reply

  3. Or, perhaps, “a gut hard read like…”

    Comment by wordorgy | November 30, 2009 | Reply


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