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A Desert Death or The Mirage of God
by Jared OrlandoNature,
the beautiful painter,
ripped the blood
from my veins
and sloshed it
against a stretched sky.
My leaky spirit,
seeping out like antifreeze,
collected into cloud
and dusted the heavens.
I found God
while my bloodless,
spiritless,
hands dug a grave,
snug into an opening
among the cacti and brush.
The wind
nipped my nose
and the hands
of the incoming night
draped a dawning blanket
and all the animals
dead or soon to be so
cried around my body.
The wolves’ tears
wetting the desert sand
being comforted
by chipmunk and hawks alike
and the Chaplin rattlesnake
slithering on top of a rock
as its tiny podium,
“Any lassst wordsss?”
“The only thing
I ask is
bury me
with a rose in my mouth
and a book in my hands.” 12/02/2015 Posted on 12/02/2015
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/03/15 at 04:57 AM I can't get any further than that first perfect stand-alone stanza. Your spirit is a sunset, or an ever changing sunrise. I like what you make me imagine. |
| Posted by Rob Littler on 12/03/15 at 05:34 PM The digging begs a burial, better'n being consumed--yet consummated. |
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