In the dark of

the cold room

a fire burns

as the rapture begins

a body turns

 

Would it be so bad to

join the show –

is it not right for

a girl to take flight?

 

And I feel you singing

to me

 

Delusions that delight

or at least do no harm

are done out of sight

somehow losing their charm.

Would it be nice

if for all to see

you set out your tricks

by which you

bewitch me?

 

Outside all is crumbling

innocents falling to harm

and we have no insight

to call to arm

because we’re floating about

insides all alight

of a tale we’re told

that comes alive every night.

 

Spinning in space

ensconced in delight

too rapt to notice

something’s not right.

 

Yet I feel you singing

to me

 

The colors unfolding

bleeding over the blight

affliction may come

I don’t care if it might.

Set me here on a plinth

’neath some holy light

let me pretend

that the day is the night.

 

-Danny Grosso

 

 

Let the thunder

roll

baby

let the thunder

roll

over field and town

paddy and home

let it roll

back the pillars of

reason and the

legacy for which

we bled

long ago

before the silver birds flew

before the thunder

before the roll.

 

If the nepalm burns

let it roll

if the hueys abort

let it roll

time alone

in the fields or

Hilton cages

are steam from

the rice cooking

on our stove.

Nothing’s important

not you not

me

but the repute of those

that built this machine

that thunders

that rolls

over thrice-covered ground

that designs

then destroys

so a mistake can be

unseen.

 

-Danny Grosso