Frank

Frank

To watch may be deadly. Terror wavers in your pupil’s frame.
Peace is wrought by twists of phrase, sublime sense writhes
and rolls me to its edge. Patient for your breath to mist
this glass, my body arches agonies written in your work,
your spine, your honeyed flesh. My tongue forks its desire, curls
to reach your proffered gift: transubstantiation, word made flesh,
flesh become your word. Dare I mouth insanity so holy yet so sweet?

Instead, I wring each sentence of its richness. A wash
of rhythm drenches my depths; history swirls
its chaos: St. Peters, Orange, Callan Park. Within these walls
our beings wrap, entwine in binding light. Forms, embodied, ghost
themselves, behold a prophet, crazed and bashed - I taste his love,
his death, shuffle through his shame. His words, my mouth,
whispered like a prayer: he is loving us now, he is loving all.


.* The phrases “To watch may be deadly,” and “he is loving us now, he is loving all” are taken from Part 5 (“Homosexual”) of “Ward Two” by Francis Webb (in Caps and Bells; The Poetry of Francis Webb; Michael Griffith and James A. McGlade (eds.) (North Ryde: Angus and Robertson, 1991))