A Burial Options

[Guest_Ishmael_*]

They shift beneath the fringes of his attention – 
the witness things umbrella’d; the catatonic sky;
the traffic, bleary and hissing; a yawn – 
and study the soil.
		             Hands are pocketed to feel

for a crumpled ticket. Still in the ears,
and stares, of the customers black 
there loiters a certain summoning:
The Butcher’s Boy - 
                               “Number 26?”           his voice a cathedral of chalk.

The rain does what it can to fill the air,
and other holes that fathers seem to fit,
but never satisfy. The priest is done
and atop the muddy water
                                        a Lord, a Thou and a Loveth float.

[Psyche]

Ishmael, there's no doubt that your poems are interesting. They deftly draw the reader's attention with apparently disconnected ideas that suddenly stop short. Then off on another track, and again we're left wondering.

I'll have to re-read to guess where you're going, or not going.

I rather like your ending, without knowing what you mean.

S1, L2 surely should be 'they witness etc. "?

Perhaps your poetry is experimental? If so, I think it's highly promising, but....can you please help me regarding meaning, technique and so on?

Thanks for sharing,
Psyche