i am the father of these words yet,
these mischievous children
run away in the loquacious dark
chasing lithe-clothed, supple-limbed
girls whirling up and about the prairie
of these versifications without home
in mind or remembering —
(the home of my mind wary of
the past and its old cobwebs,
or the slaughter of ordinariness
with a dull blade poised to cull,
these mindful creatures assassinating
diaphanous muses disrobing themselves,
serpents shedding their integuments.)
oh and when they return home sullied,
after a day's squalid scamper past
the muck, the twitch of atmosphere,
the horizon ladled with clouds
in white metamorphosis, i remove their
clothes and send them to the fences of sleep — impish dream-callers,
yes I am the father of these words
and they flourish, swelling up, learning
to harangue their own father, sending
him to borderless retreat.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
i am the father of these words yet,
these mischievous children
run away in the loquacious dark
chasing lithe-clothed, supple-limbed
girls whirling up and about the prairie
of these versifications without home
in mind or remembering —
(the home of my mind wary of
the past and its old cobwebs,
or the slaughter of ordinariness
with a dull blade poised to cull,
these mindful creatures assassinating
diaphanous muses disrobing themselves,
serpents shedding their integuments.)
oh and when they return home sullied,
after a day's squalid scamper past
the muck, the twitch of atmosphere,
the horizon ladled with clouds
in white metamorphosis, i remove their
clothes and send them to the fences of sleep — impish dream-callers,
yes I am the father of these words
and they flourish, swelling up, learning
to harangue their own father, sending
him to borderless retreat.
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