Alley Aristotle

You and I had a tick of the hungering kind That gnawed through my veins like a Macintosh rind And unchose from the chosen your craggy, chapped hands Which could never quite hold any pinchpenny plans. As boys we both grabbed at the grass-ribbon skies But thought, “Father, forgive me! The light burns my eyes!” When your fist balled, your palms split like fleshy cement And like torn dollar bills, your hair-color was spent. Once a famine came through me, and fallowed my bones Whose creek-beds were nothing but blood-starving stones, Which you filled with Italian sauces and herbs That were red as the glass on the backcountry curbs. Then you left…should I cheapen the line with more words? Soaked in juices and wrappers and food for the birds, You got into your car, took a deep drag of gas, And drove straight through a hole in the ant-lion grass. Now my rivers run deep, though the soil is still pale And ol’ graybeard is under his funeral veil. There was god in your eyes went you dove through the earth And I hope that you found him, for all it was worth.