by Charles Leggett
— The Half Brothers at Connor Byrne Pub, Seattle, WA, All Hallows’ Eve
rannaigheacht mhor
… ‘Til you die, they sing, die, die!
and saints up high are heckling
mid minglings of mercury
and slurry wraiths of smoke rings.
Milder the blaze, more’s the mold
light gleans, beguiled with shade’s glaze,
be it cause or effect — culled
curves no whit dulled for their flaws.
Earl’s parading as a pimp
(it’s simply not persuading)
“from the ‘burbs!” Prodding fangs, pumps,
gowns. Slumps now on my nodding
old bean a clown’s fake cleaver:
firm believer in more means
to mine cagey and clever
“forever of two minds” mimes.
Eighteen days. We two wended
to bend pens and bid adieu.
Let’s do the math. “Hey! Dang! Did… ?”
Earl’s turbid frown, “… the Friday?”
In desultory down-
town robes, frown, sad certi-
orari deployed and done,
the judge unstopped us. Starry
cloaks in heaven can’t be tried
on till we’ve died? Let’s leaven
this notion in terms of trade
and shade: how long to live un-
’til you die are dissolved in
meaningless skinflint shorn shards
cardings of blurred coarse-cloven
time unwoven as our words
pared of sense decompounded
in a floundering flotsam
of time’s scum or? absconded
beyond it to light lissome
song that awaits slowly slipped
encrypted in inchoate
dream-sly iteration wrapped
thus unwrapped quickened quiet
bare souls we’d go on gaining
the insights raining round so
sweetly we’d been beginning
to bring to bear song we’d see
a warbling to wend by spills
out instills for absorbing
any ennobling nigh shoals of our souls’ private probings
the numbers of the benumb-
ing music mumbling ardors
of satori sere sublime
discernment chime that adheres
meaning to our lives as lived
as motive drums what we do
moments alone we had loved
stained hands gloved watching windy
clouds clutch and pour in ardent
argument with fond friends or
our deep dourest, most mordent
and hellbent yearning hours our
old melodies molting all
over us …pall of appeas-
ing those questionings I quail
sans pale and Powers to pose —
Cheers! How long? Square for a score,
or fight for more? …Queer question
mark scrawled there: spun-around scar
of a marred exclamation
point candidly claw-footed —
now what’d — bounced my bloody
whiskey! Whoops. Why, un-whited, highlighted dun, ’til I die!
Charles Leggett is a professional actor based in Seattle, WA. His poetry has been published in the US, the UK, Ireland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand,Singapore and Nigeria. Recent publications include Volney Road Review, Ocotillo Review, Heirlock Magazine, Automatic Pilot, Eunoia Review, and Galway Review; work is forthcoming in Poetica Publishing’s next Mizmor Anthology.
