… with honey.

By J. K. McDowell

September 2011

 

Where did I first meet him?  In the drinking halls

Below street level, counting the forenoons and

Afternoons, full of whiskey notes and traded promises.

 

Beauty and Truth, these are mountainsides exposed

By the dawn sun but I have overslept and

My critical eye is blind to what I need to be shown.

 

The swarm:  crawling layers of warm regret and

Swollen disappointment.   What are the right weapons

In this wrong fight?  A double blind study of promise.

 

Now that you see the Truth behind the pasteboard mask

Can you really go back to that well worn turn by turn?

The polished shield becomes the polished mirror.

 

These emotions scar a blank sheet in the notebook

Of some poet.  Silent secret leers are stolen

Between glances of greed – afternoon turns to night.

 

Golden lichen faithful to the crumbing limestone.

Step carefully James, Beauty is underfoot in

All directions.  This absinth is sweetened with honey.

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