1
What do mornings regard but
the night refusing to budge?
The Sun a progeny
there must be room for days in
this revenge
2
I fold I
in this exquisite manner
I dream of my fortune
as rash before this I slid
underneath the cleft
like an epistle
unopened, stamped by the dearth
of another
secured in this absence
black like a cummerbund
3
The bed shook.
enough to toss me out of
but not inherit me into a dull succession.
our places nominal.
we have a sum if syndicate
but still impotent
they have made this a reportage
of a miracle read from a gauche script:
This is
the morning that
was becoming no
less than a champion
over you | vacate your body
while you are still able |
the body confesses
I am constantly awakened
by this futility.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
1
What do mornings regard but
the night refusing to budge?
The Sun a progeny
there must be room for days in
this revenge
2
I fold I
in this exquisite manner
I dream of my fortune
as rash before this I slid
underneath the cleft
like an epistle
unopened, stamped by the dearth
of another
secured in this absence
black like a cummerbund
3
The bed shook.
enough to toss me out of
but not inherit me into a dull succession.
our places nominal.
we have a sum if syndicate
but still impotent
they have made this a reportage
of a miracle read from a gauche script:
This is
the morning that
was becoming no
less than a champion
over you | vacate your body
while you are still able |
the body confesses
I am constantly awakened
by this futility.
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