The Five Bells by Larry D. Sweazy
A red neon cappuccino sign buzzes
Immediate passion,
The cathedral chimes a braying
Tone wishing blue sky Sundays
Away.
Angled goatees, tight shorts on whirling
Silver spokes turn by
My bleeding ears,
The uniform of masculine passage, ripe,
Bright and collectable like
Stain-glassed Tiffany lamps
All muddle in the soul
of a blonde siren.
The atlas bounces, burns,
Shatters in the scream of a stallion's
Broken leg,
And at last when the sun shadows over it,
Green pond-scummed water comes and drowns
my Lancelot sore with five o'clock bells
As evening lays its dark hand
To the silent road.
A red neon cappuccino sign buzzes
Immediate passion,
The cathedral chimes a braying
Tone wishing blue sky Sundays
Away.
Angled goatees, tight shorts on whirling
Silver spokes turn by
My bleeding ears,
The uniform of masculine passage, ripe,
Bright and collectable like
Stain-glassed Tiffany lamps
All muddle in the soul
of a blonde siren.
The atlas bounces, burns,
Shatters in the scream of a stallion's
Broken leg,
And at last when the sun shadows over it,
Green pond-scummed water comes and drowns
my Lancelot sore with five o'clock bells
As evening lays its dark hand
To the silent road.
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