And Sharp As Any Star – Vic Gamble

This sour old priest faced man
still has his hair,still has fledgling feathered hair.

Licking & drooling over his landscapes
of bad molars, he
evaporates into mooching, moaning
tired senseless of all his tiresome over-tested genuflections.

droll & drone,
etiolate,
arthritic,
saliva sponging vinegar,
reflexes refluent…..
and sharp as any star, his razor.

the hand hamstrung
by quirky shakes,
the bathwater a liquid bier, (an unholy crib)
his chest catching breath
like a child’s sad, soiled bib….
and sharp as any star, his razor.

Outclassed by age
he has become as quiet
as the crucifix pearl strung
around an old toothless
dead nun’s neck.
And this sour old priest faced man
permanently scars himself and slips, as sloth,
into the paen of red.

Already twisting in water,
slow stride down,
as sharp as any star, his razor.

…..bursts of shine, blood mists to rust,
old priest faced man sours through twilight
and into the bloodless gingerness
of brown.

...and sharp as any star, his razor
falls deeper, deeper hell bound down.

Vic Gamble