I.
oh
to have lived
to live
with a skeletal ghost town
tumbleweeds and tattered buildings
it is always august here
it is always august here

ever since the hopefuls left
many seasons ago
dry riverbed town--idly
observe the dancing
of diana and apollo

paralysis of the outpost
no feeling thought or action
has been felt.
synapsing and planting
to this town
is always
done
and dry as a bone
once
more
any such parenthetical
is a brief and pithy
footnote
once more trying to parse the silence
once more trying
to parse the fearful dust.


II.
once there were
lilacs out of the dead land
once there were
lilacs and children
dancing in the dust
whitewash walls
clapboards of rose
and everything
was lapidary

gems of children
gems of flowers
gems in troughs

those were the days
ah sir they were.
i miss the days of yore.
i miss the days of lore.

once there were
people and beliefs.
the church
the steeple
the pews
the people
and God smiled on the
gems

every celestial waltz
was punctuated--
the sun
the moon
would pause to see feel
the land, the permanent coruscation
of the ghost town

there were gems
in the eyes of the prospector
when he said
the land is useless
the gems are gone
miners, miners, forty-niners
youve all the silver in your palms
we must flee to the heart
where we can make subsistence.


III.
the prospector cloyed the city

no more prospects
anymore.
the pews were broken
to protect from gomorrah town
ghost town or gomorrah town
they asked themselves
ghost town

and the prospector
pocketed
the gems
he pocketed
the children
the lilacs
the walls and boards
he took the color
he took the life
and his eyes they coruscated
a lovely lapis lazuli

he took even eden
and sent them home

his greedy purveyance

the land left callow
the land left fallow


IV.
the people heard the warning
heed the warning
the people abraded buildings
and existence
and laughter and thought
and love
from the town
the ghost town

they killed it in
cold blood.

a stagnant torpid beast calculating and hot

the prospector wanted
his secrets kept
he returned to the graveyard
with eclat and clout
Diana Apollo frowned on
the homicide
and sent the warmth
and dark spiraling through
his prospects

he left for good
he gone from the land
singing lilacs and rosemary

the gems gone from his
eyes.


V.
there exists in the pockets of
the ghost town
secrets untold
in the pockets there exists
gold and turquoise
jasper and crystalline laughter

but who can claim
that which is secret

when will the stake of
possession be driven through
the heart of the dragon??

gems glisten unturned
and every so often, when Diana or Apollo
pause to take a breath
while dancing over
the ghost town

there is a fleeting
moment when the senescence
of the spectre
matters not
a fleeting moment of lapidary
coruscation when
time is mad as its prospects


it is nearly time for the lilacs.
it is nearly our augustine Easter.