Ready for the Razor

Ready for the Razor

“Suffering is one very long moment.

We cannot divide it by seasons…”

Oscar Wilde: De Profundis

Have you seen Douglas walk

with giants wearing green carnations,

shimmering within liquid space

where mockingbirds dare not sing,

haunted by the brave with a razor

in the middle of the pageant of the stars?

Lips never stop complaining, intolerant

they see our shadows marching hand in hand

and forget the dew at first light.   From dusk to a leaning

dawn, we rest between each other’s thighs,

season to season.

What is the verb I’m missing;

down on my knees, chained, forced labor?

Iron has never been that comfortable,

or regret that significant.