Vigil Of The Dry Rain Poem by Luke J. Holt

The lunar milk is hot as wax
the gulls have ceased to drink
the skeleton is anxious and wants to swim
if i am to prevent your sovereignty
i must swath you in shameful tufts of hide
and make you stink of stag and steer
till the flies shall liken you charming
as i had upon the fleeting waltz of your eyes to arrows
blue massacre
in hysterical night
glimpse of glittered doom in the crooked alleys
moons becoming raiders of floating birth
the songs are of a solar twang that soothes the frightened
that halts the quiver of torrid hearts
and makes rain of the powdered temples
to create places without footsteps
where we cannot reap our season's drollest yield
a love as sheathed as heart may shield