Original watercolor by Eric Ward, © 2005. All rights reserved.
I.
They’ve come
To tailor
The scenes
To the way
The man moves
Through sacred boundaries
Of time
(silk)
Across the heaviness
Of ancient
Old atmosphere
(emptiness)
In the abstract
Moves thirsty
And slow
With heavy
(black)
Culpable boots
(tangled)
Worn savage
(strange)
Mix of man
(hybrid)
Mix of blood
(the thought)
Of angel wings
Gives way
To the
Very breath
Of the devil
(oil)
Soaked in clots
(black)
Stained the color
(of)
Diesel smoke
(rain)
Mixed with venom
(this)
Dark reptilian brain
Keeps watching
The walls
For murder
(life)
Breath by breath
(lives)
By degrees
(immersed)
In shadows
(hungry)
And wanting:
II.
In the beginning
(we)
Saw an innocence
(in)
His eyes
(once)
A place
Of holy
Rivers flowed
(naked)
Blue palaces
Of wind
(that)
Knew the
Direct power
Of each glance
(a softness)
Full with music
And beauty
(danced)
Thirsty rings around
Every circle
(until)
He was engulfed
By arrows
(arrows)
Of sorrow
(engulfed)
His spirit whole
(this instrument)
Of anger
(re)
Baked in lungs
Of rage
(this)
Instrument of destruction
(hollow)
From the
Mouth down
(perfect)
Honed sharp
(template)
Of sorrow
(from)
Which all
Other scenes
(might)
Be measured
III.
And they killed
The renegade
With indifference
(charlatans)
On the edge
Of the walk
(whispered)
Dirty words
At his shadow
(a man)
Stripped of family
(community)
Without connection
(fought)
Himself for title
To his
Own face
(searching)
For the
True meat
Of substance
(reality)
Without love
(sin)
Without opposition
(raging)
At the walls
(substance)
No see
Through skin
(raged)
Thirsty blind gales
Of death
(ratified)
In blood
(clearness)
And clarity
(become)
The sparse
Blue echo
Of fists
Against the
Hallowed windows
Of dawn
IV.
And watched
His life
(consumed)
In rubble
(the meat)
Of the myth
(the meat)
Of old memory
(depth)
Of substance
(meat)
Of meaning
(lost)
Whole in words
(faithful)
In denial
(wept)
The ground
(in)
To this endless
Frozen-cold field
Of graves:
V.
And the hunger
Has cut
Deep grooves
Along the
Diamond gouges
Of his lips
(roads)
Made of rock
(scream)
At the moon
(and)
The earth shakes
(crystal)
Cathedrals of storms
Are blowing
The aroma
Of fresh blood
(as)
A man
Draws his gun
(from)
His vest pocket
(‘I)
Said don’t park
Here again
(if)
I have
To tell
(you)
One more time
(kill)
You dead
With my own
Bare hand-’