weak-kneed,
heavy-eyed,
stumbling
I push through the thicket
to the patch of land
where the air is thick
with burnt pine and turmeric
to where the moon sets
spry on the water
I take my legs
and offer them to the strait
my plunge
into the euripus
what use are they
if not to walk
to the nape of hope's neck?
well, then
it is this
I am whelmed
carried off by the cold swell
of adam's ale
then, somewhere
along the river
and its rushing stupor
I hear singing
a voice that rings like clinkstone
and the ecclesiast begins to pull me
a quiet accompaniment
careful quiet, in the night –
such is thievery
subtle, without much grief
take me
for whatever gold I am
whatever glimmer that I could give
burnished of whatever sin
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 12:07 PM UTC
weak-kneed,
heavy-eyed,
stumbling
I push through the thicket
to the patch of land
where the air is thick
with burnt pine and turmeric
to where the moon sets
spry on the water
I take my legs
and offer them to the strait
my plunge
into the euripus
what use are they
if not to walk
to the nape of hope's neck?
well, then
it is this
I am whelmed
carried off by the cold swell
of adam's ale
then, somewhere
along the river
and its rushing stupor
I hear singing
a voice that rings like clinkstone
and the ecclesiast begins to pull me
a quiet accompaniment
careful quiet, in the night –
such is thievery
subtle, without much grief
take me
for whatever gold I am
whatever glimmer that I could give
burnished of whatever sin
