torpid grail
Carol: Withering Song
Like the hand of a conductor
moving the orchestra, the wind moves
the trees and my clothing,
swaying them back and forth
like a violinist’s hands on the strings
Darling, our house is floating high
on the waves, it’s going to crash on me
But I’m leading a session at your grave,
and my emotions, like glue, hold my legs still
Maybe when I’m crushed
you’ll understand the blabbering
this heart makes in its long speeches
Because like a baby needs milk,
this heart needs you
The thunderclaps are threatening,
very close now, sounding rough,
like some grand mafia seizing control
yet even gods couldn’t move Olympus
Our car is gliding through the air,
the one you drove to your skyfall,
and I’m going to sit here and watch
like nature is performing a concert for me
The End is a greedy horsekeeper
He demands my crimson cells
in exchange for his dark horse, the Ariel,
for my journey to the ghoul
He’ll have it anyway I hear the quiet
sand in the glass counting my time
Maybe he’ll come tonight while I’m sleeping,
and I’ll be on your lap by tomorrow
If the Wuthering Heights can no longer stand,
will they not fall on Heathcliff?
I’ve dug my six feet for the fall,
and I sit here among the ruins
at your grave, bargaining with the horsekeeper
Even life seems to want me gone
how else do you explain
that all we ever had
is gone in a hurricane?
(looks up at the shadow in the air)
Well, darling, the-----
(thud, a sound like a stone striking mud)
(Silence)
long atlas