Passion Spent

That I buried it all-

Walking it in like a sandworm-
Seems obvious now.
Whether it was necessary
Has obscured itself
In the woodening of the times.
But I thought it would hover
Under the surface, almost visible,
Waiting for the summons.
There would be no holding, no hiding,
Only the Mahlerian drama of unfettered climaxes
All the offstage moments
Could relinquish their tightlipped talents
And, by a passionate bonding,
Cause such rich vibrations
As would split the world
At the waist like a chocolate egg,
Thumb the crackling walls apart
To reveal its mad pulsating core
And give time a second start.
But I had hidden it all too well,
Plastered over every crack of skin,
A skim of cement on unclosed wounds,
And now I cannot find the scream,
It stays unused-

Honor O Brolchain