Can Cardinals wear secret coats?

Waiting for a gray beard
To cross the plains
Tell us something wise
Make our cries fall quiet

Old hands, that they are
Old hat, not so much

Some of us are on rooftops
And some in basements
Seeming standing on the ceilings
Throats open for the promised yells
We can’t remember how once we uttered
So instead we shudder at how shuttered
Our little rooms we live in are
And can only force a stutter

Lank and loose with dull eyes gleaming
But bored and dead unable to find the siren sound that cuts our thoughts and feelings

The echoed noise of our minds weeping

Imperfect bodies
     never heavenly
          mingle

Orbits intertwined

Heat seeking souls
     can’t miss their
          peaking shine

Heat seeking souls

Under the table pickle dealings

Crisscrossed road scarred dry strangled useless and varicose

Mice never squeaked until the invention of the squeaking machine, which taught them everything they know

While the best of tender chickens
Laid down in those trenches
Old souls lost to lost causes
In mud mined by young blood

This garden growing wild
     Catches at our breath
          Stilled
But for a moment quiet
     Like our tigers after riot
With eyes as embers
     In the silence

Untamed shades
     Move behind
           Gentle gazes
Like spiraled vines
      In shadow

The flaws of perfection
     Tipped our scale
           Towards symmetry
And lead our naked steps
     To a delicate line
We crossed with whispered
     Thoughts of wants

So flaws bore fruit
     And the wild thrived
And the temptation of two bites
     Caught fire in our teeth

Two hearts burning bright
     With desire
          In our minds
               Our eyes
                    Our tongues
                         Our touch

Channel South.
The Mississippi fold
Whipped midnight dust
From the quiet cages
Of homeless graves.

The dead awake
To low night music
As yellow electric light
Mirrors the slow flow
Of gorgeous life
That loves to shine.

So speak to the fine eyes
As if you found them
In a great Khan’s garden,
Elegant and wild

Wild lives grow
     like vines
With secret beasts
     in roaring leaves
Seeking to dream blues
     north

Hags burn
     sinister herbs
From the foliage
     but smoke blows
south

Heavy breaths
     gasp clean air
Growing bored
     to choke

We only howl when the sun rises
Cause nights are for softer sounds
And softer hearts than
The faces made for the
Days that make fists

Paler light unclenches them.
We blend into a scape
Without fading, a starry
Dusk overwhelming

Our cries will cease
And we will hum and burn
In our fall.  The trip to
Earth is fun
While it seems to smile back
The land glowing closer