Slow Healing Bruise

By René Parks

Time’s opulence transmutes with timelessness
Rage blunted by reckless boredom
Lackadaisical feckless weariness
Wispy grey clouds whisper of our whoredom

And threaten us indoors, in spite of sun.
My dog and me sucking sunshine like whores
Divining a thunderous eruption
Sudden silver CRACK shakes us to our cores

Instantaneously woke, though falling
Dumb and silent, we deny the next hit.
Ingratiating masochist lying
To oneself while stumbling into a pit.

The storm lets loose, sword slashing at our chests
Eyes open to the sky’s violet hued west.