"WE therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into
corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body..."
I am hundred years dead
And the water is dread wide —
Hunch I my head against the wind
Straight from the shoulder, H/E angst,
But goes my algorithm awry —
Memory nipped my insanity yesternight...
... ... Mortified right I was;
Ain't cotton to lovers for years...no...
Could slip they my pious sleep away
By a little sleight of hand...
Love is a briny deep, but sets at the shore,
Vaporizing the Vistavision — and
How all the dreams that sound subdued,
Not to be assayed and to be limited not,
Follow the spells of fatuity's skill sorcerous —
From the cradle to the pyre
Chased I the broken velvet sky; let
The sacred shudder to ask what toxins they contain;
Eventide breaks from pain to fountain pen,
Count I thy decrepit blessings —
Brain crying dearth,
heart...peopled by void,
soul acting out an enigma,
shadow wounds up to sleep —
Thou water not wet...
Their carousal is on a carousel ride —
Awaiting my high the next low tide...
Come thick with me and be my thin,
We shall die down, but hang in;
The sun liar mounts and rains my croon,
Spy not quicksand, we pink moon —
My, my, a thousand-spring-dead - I!
The balloon did spring not a leak; still
I'm suspiring time —
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 5:37 AM UTC