Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Sad Horns

Catastrophe's whirlpool
pulled the doomstruck down

stilling their vibrations,
stirring a gumbo

of rainbow poison,
wood, nails and upholstery,

filling a lake
thick with dead fish,

the soft, liquefying
faces of the drowned.

You
put on dark glasses,

knew nothing
about sheeted things on wagons.

Weeks later,
memory drains,

and the sea slinks back
with a dolorous sigh.

The sun bakes the ruined walls,
while elsewhere

the world hums on,
and here the sad horns moan.