sommelier of sorrow and bad dreams

sommelier

alexander michael ziperovich

dedicated to Philip Seymour Hoffman

icarus flew too close to the son again
and illumination shamelessly burned him like syphilis

with a kiss
from the heavens’ misted baptismal eclipse

the dramatist, the tragedian, the blind and bound prophet
recording reorderings, hapless with a snake for a toothbrush
or a tongue
Sophocles’
idiot sun

and as he grasped at the falling, fallen icarus,
he could not discern between the stars & the dust
that rose from the terra from which icarus was thrust
and he still grasping up, clutching grass blades
thinking “breaking harps may stop breaking hearts”

exhume a plague from a mind-field of sharp, rolling rocks
have a new burial inside his own personal graveyard
rearranging the remaining ghosts all laying charred
on the floor of the house he built from scars
with a tiny window from where he could not
see the stars

beloved rain please wash me
no one is watching

in the mud, sobbing with grief, relentlessly not free
caught in a forest of poppies smiling at me
as i try not to be

but i am
harbinger of pain as i try to heal i am mauled
by flippant, sick little
nothings
and and and my brain boils
my blood tinted with lives as it tries to dry on the soil

i must make the devil recoil
i must make god feel like black gasoline
i myself feel everything
too
bad
drowning in a pool of bloody, shattered wedding rings

and my love escapes me

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