BONY FINGER IN THE SWEET SPOT

Bony finger in the sweet spot
the Reaper thinks he's tickling
as he stabs and prods
pokes you in the chest as he jokes
"Listen boy," he says -
his cigarette is three inches of half-smoldering ash
dancing dangerous
between calcified, spiny fingers
"Don't concern your dustifying mind
the machinations of the wind
and madman Time are the playthings
of a greater wisdom.
A deeper hue of salvation.
A denser dark between the pieces
that build the human heart."
I could feel the dent deepen
in the plate inside my chest
as he tapped and poked
with that brittle, embattled finger
His voice was a thousand years dry
like air moving over
a cracked Arizona riverbed
like a breath across the dead
His laugh was hollow and deep
a baby in a well
The empty sockets scanned the crowd
to see if anyone was listening
other than me
Satisfied, he pulled me close
"We are all in these places, Boy.
We dream that we're above them, but we're not.
We are all down here in the places
where the whiskey makes us crazy
and the wind blows the smoke from the field
and the light on the water makes us
catch our breath
See, the reapers and the sleepers
they come down here when their
resistance is low
They sing praises to the places
they so rarely go
The glimmering places of life
where lovers melt into each other
and make Angels blush with the things they
say to each other in the dark
So keep this life
shake all the fruit from this night
Live and love and drink and dance
and kiss the things that make poets sing
Set these words on fire
and watch the sparkles of life burst and pop"
Who would have thought the Reaper a romantic
His hand curled back under the shadow
of his cloak
and he drifted like smoke
across the dance floor
disappeared into the pulses
of light
I got my whiskey topped off and
then I pulled you from that place
out here into the night
I've been watching you too long
and saying nothing
I'm going to kiss you now