Gin and Tonic War
by Michael Brett

Now that from the whirlwind I've escaped,
Let the gin slide down the inside of my glass:
The Cubist moon, white as a polished skull
Rides like a block of flats
Between the curves of tonic waves,
Each like the instant that divides
Life from death, today from tomorrow
And closes the curtains at the corners of the eyes.

Somewhere here resides, like a quiet castle,
The spark that walks the instant
Like Christ on water; the waves
That with a sniper's cross hairs comb his hair;
The unsought-for doorway instant
That turns today inside-out,
Ransacks the tomorrow, forages
Like cavalry in the brain
In search of images of itself;

This instant, like a kind of mountaineer,
Rubs its hand on the rocking crest of the day.

The first snort of the wild pig, explosive said
'I leave you alive with sirens and security checks forever.'
I will lay a black and smoking coin upon your tongue
And your words, fat as flies from a dead manŐs boot,
Shall escape and no-one know them save those know
This instant and Death's back circled with broken things,
Like seaweed in tormented seas.

Press your head below its waves and troughs
And see what human eyes have never seen.

Copyright © 2012 - Michael Brett
Published: 12/6/12   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem