Dissonant Bells

A procession of cars --
A chorus of sparrows --

Their morning spiritual sits heavy on my chest.

The church bell disintegrates my bones,  

Extinguishes tongues of fire that dance above my head, 

Silences mad utterances that rattle my teeth. 

  

(I recall honey-laden bees --

The hill of shooting stars --
Its' fragrance lost in Irish locks,  

And the dissonant bell on the day of rest
That dislodged my skull.) 

  

The procession continues

Towards the Tabernacle of Saints and Sinners. 

  

(And to think, flame at my window,  

Once you burned across my world.)