The Faults Of The Mechanism

The maladroit pacing
Of the gears toiling aimlessly
In the gnarls of my temple
Trembling for exoneration
From the imposed mechanism
Where another constellation
Of wintry metallic gears
Hold a violent clout
Girdled by my very thumb
And beckoned by my forefinger

This is how it works
For a masked man
And crystallized soul

A diadem of surly thorns
And impatient magnums
Is the incendiary plying
Of my blood's colour
Riving to be spilled flagrantly
And spatter to stain
The numbness of the grins
Or the chagrined moue

The mechanism is simple:
Come close, touch me
In the sanguinary skin
Gnawed by a bloating fear;
Come closer and scrape the sun
Haul and save me from this gun
Make me run, in your lovely pace,
Hold the gun
Now, loosen
Forget the vows of the forgotten
Release the burning forest
And watch the sullied man
Remove his fluent mask
And metamorphose eagerly
Into a carrion fenced by crows
And vulpine smiles
Of cheap remorse
Putrefying in your shadows,
Haunting in your memories.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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