Gouging the Sun's Vessels

Here we go again, after forty-seven sunsets
Counting the insurmountable steps
Ballasting in the wicks of fireballs emblazing
Subtly stirring the warm nostalgic lullaby
Soused in a maladroit tangerine fire
That parcels the dirty grass blades oozing
From the notches of the downtrodden path
Here, again we bask enthralled to the wafts
Of the gloaming's ubiquitous crowd
Here, we find the footsteps heaved
In the sands desperately fertilizing
In an echopraxic melancholia
Here, we linger with the truant and the charlatan
Five thousand footsteps slumbering in the bassinet
Of inebriated foreign tongues
Stomping upon the malingering apprehension
Mirth and gloom registered in the visage of our liaison
But the sun shall not halt for the summer eve sky
Or the toppling pillars of our frail constitutions
We shall not digress with the violent gush
Rather we let the body be laid to rise
As the sojourner of the sun's setting
Without groveling, permit it be
And watch the footsteps thaw
Into the harlequin sun's maw
We are the wafting and the wisp
Of every dusk's shrouded sleep
And in the oblivious latticing of rays
We shall wander aimlessly the afternoon asleep

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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