Buttressed against the sign,
The medieval wave foams over the cup of a lovely breastfed
nose
Exhaling the Jewish nostalgia of mournful local upbringings
In the reared tragedy of common history
Gone from the Irish shores that reach into the heart of a
small mayflower
Lore teaching the youth and middle-aged men of their rights
And losing
fate in the unreasonable song
To play out our entrenched groove that rides into spherical
motion,
A dreamless awe maintaining the earthy power to cool enraged
throats
And
impress a soft layer of peace on the back
An
all-escaping flesh
Of
our siblings who praise the sun
And
its ever-flowing majesty
As we drink clean the greatest bled bowel, stirring all life
Into a
swarm of negligent dearth
Strengthened
by the mother mage
Feeding
her feminine premonitions
As vulnerable as a dragonfly bubble collecting under glass-blown
facades
Over childhood
ignorance
Now
translated into memory and anger
For the righteous who sweat uneasy in the rain of God’s
unwavering brow,
Quenching
the sweet lust of a tongue touching air
Breaking out over the raspy law
Stressing
oral vernaculars in this southerly pressure
On the winded tune
Calling
lonely flints to breaking stone in the fireless birth of electric streets
Cowering in the name and number of a modern fear
As
troubling and apparent as the street’s end in wilderness
Post-office calling on locally made children,
Whose
strength lowered into oceanic depths
At this point, along my own shore
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