A Measure of Fullness

A Measure of Fullness

(every cup will overflow)

Brett Alan Dewing

Let me whisper this…
Nothing is getting better
The Entropy has us,
And we are circling the drain.
No light is coming
That is not here yet—
Even with so much
Left to be burned.

When I arrived here,
It was not as imprecator.
The dew was heavy on my wonder,
And I saw that the light was here.
I kissed the book.
I took the veil.
I opened all receptors.

It is not in my nature 
So much as to speak
Without an embossed engraved,
But all the silence inside
Began to press against the pores.
There is nothing without
But noise,
The boss of this world,
And all of its graves.

But my heart bled white
With truth.
’Til in my fear I found the strength
To know it was not in vain
Or vain
That I should speak.
(For I could not disturb the air
With any choice that silence keep.)
So trembling, forced to raise my voice,
I said
Let me whisper this…

The walls are already broken
And no one sits in the gate.
We are all on loan to death.
If you do not stand today
You are already laid out for your coffin.
And no one is sounding the horn
Who is not already blue in the face.
The fleece is wet, the fleece is dry,
The fleece is soaked with blood—
And not only your own.
It will not be sent again.

So gather up the harvest now—
All the manna you can eat—
And don’t forget to hold your staff
And keep your sandals on your feet.

This is not the message I wanted to say,
But it all goes down—
Comes down—
Today.

---

Brett Alan Dewing
Poet & Playwright

Brett has been published in Windhover, Hammered Out, and *catapult.

Photography by Marina Reich