BRUNK HOWARD


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devotions

The moon draws down the day as it carries in the night.

Inside silhouettes turn to pray in the shadows of candlelight.

I turn my collar up against the ice of fiery scorn

With no illusions of the depths of night from which it is born.


You move out of the shadow of a solitary streetlight

Into my mind’s crimson flames that eat away death’s night.

A surprised look of terror misplaces tranquility

On the face of the ancient statue that waits by the ageless sea.


And I turn to face clarity’s version of the truth

But am thrown back by hurricane’s breakers taking baby steps in Duluth.

Devotions are thrown into the brimstone of god’s questioning skies

While on my knees I watch the multitudes kiss a statue devoted to disguises

And I tremble as I realize that truth implodes inside my mind

And can’t be taken with me until the end of time.


The moon draws down the night as it carries in the day.

Outside gestures reach for light with an attitude to pray.

I turn my face from the brilliance that shadows the king’s cry

As the world’s illusions clamor for the biggest half of the pie.


You move out of the shadow of a solitary sun’s ray

Into my mind’s crimson flames that feed high noon’s day.

An anguished look of recognition conceals the right page

On the face of the ancient statue that’s taken center stage.


And I turn to face persona’s version of the truth

As Clark Kent begs me to leave the world’s only phone booth.

Devotions carry beggar’s cups into god’s questioning skies

While on my knees I watch the multitudes kiss a statue devoted to disguises

And I tremble as I realize that truth implodes inside my mind

And can’t be taken with me until the end of time.