black shoes and riverdance

just when the bang,
bang, bang behind my eyes
stops

sorrow's gluttons appear
wanting curtain-calls
from pounding
imaginations

(which,
last time I heard

was river-dancing
black slip-ons
over the right half
of my frontal lobe)

you 300 hundred pound
word hogs
sumo readers
whose eyes grunt
and scratch for more.

you can't wait
to root
through the taps and stomps
careening along my capricious slope
wanting

to dig up glimpses

of fire-fighter's solemn,
soot-smudged faces

(they carry
death, you know)

to spy on them
criss-crossing
over my fore head

trailing anquish
that drips off tired brows --

maybe you're thinking;

"I can dissect her hemispheres

find answers why
strangers will climb over
and through
rubble and debree
for life not their own"

nerve!

little do you page-droppers
know --

it's not only Poe
with hidden secrets
to the dings, tings, rings

of bells,
bells,

and more bells.