what it meant, first time, felt,
the night blacker, moon daresay zither
of birds asleep somewhere
stone whetted by air, lingual and sharp
with reticence, that obscured
thing of beauty at the edge
of forget— ah, our memory
that picks the derelict, so much is truer
in abandon: tear-shed, stifled, watching
the word dart through the carapace
pulverizing a sensible universe
tracing the line of shadow
immaculately awed.
inward gush of blood as always
and a smile feigned,
running across the turgid avenue
burning bright, the rebel,
fading out.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
what it meant, first time, felt,
the night blacker, moon daresay zither
of birds asleep somewhere
stone whetted by air, lingual and sharp
with reticence, that obscured
thing of beauty at the edge
of forget— ah, our memory
that picks the derelict, so much is truer
in abandon: tear-shed, stifled, watching
the word dart through the carapace
pulverizing a sensible universe
tracing the line of shadow
immaculately awed.
inward gush of blood as always
and a smile feigned,
running across the turgid avenue
burning bright, the rebel,
fading out.
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