Somewhere, a computer buzzes
Mechanical ignorances in spite
Of matriarchal indulgences,
Pretty glasses preceding ugly
Attacks upon the commercial
Disaster, a master of stirring
Deep loathing for all the many
Morning misers, dawning dreads.
Coffee in cavalry, busy bayonets
Surrender to social sabres, and
Afternoon is upon them again.
Sometimes, sound sin married
Found fortitude, a strength no
Sunday sermon could abide
Within the symphonies of the
Damned, saved holy grace sighs
Sweetly at such a thought, but
Untouched dust gathers touched
Tomes quicker than the cries of
Hellish kindles to fresh sinners,
And Dante once again dies to destitute days of afternoon aids.
Somehow, even the harmonies of
Heresy, all ablaze and all drowning,
Put away the playings of patriarchal
Palaces in retrograde rendering to
Something louder than the mean
Mechanics threatening the worker,
a faith demanding force that
Brings Olympus to Athens, Athens
To ash, for there is nothing more
Demanding than the turning
Trebuchet of afternoon antics.
Perhaps I shall make changes to this when I am not so tired, but enjoy this late night writing.