The Arms & Doors - Pete Gioconda

The Arms and Doors (that open and close)

Snakes of bites and milks of pales
fasting myself and biting nails;
The ancient, oathen one splits his sides
and deals out croaks of pest
that gloat and spew on trafficked arrest.

Clutched the boots of a lover and killer
like a glad and sad at once overall,
He winced inside like a liar
and swore himself sore and had;
my guide shook himself as spy on launch-pad.

Trench-coated, slit-eyed and fond of head
soaked upwards the endless run of life
that comes to haunt the friends for life,
from a ball of cries de coeur and bullets just there
fading on a general’s breath.

In dew wont soon upon the graves now due,
too soon, the legacies under a carpet spun ~
changelings and corpses owned by none,
yet hailed them days for things they’d done:
chants that stop and deny the coming stew . . .

Madly pounding for the arms and doors
that open and close and reflect
as much as lovers’ burning eyes ~
to spy down upon trifle laws,
while alone he shall see us melt our doors.

(First published by Islington Poetry Workshop in “Nagging Heads”, 1985.)