Poems unto sleep.
I read to you,
who drudged in jaded narrow suns,
Engored by the steel-edge‘d lance.
A shaft long like baton for a handless,
He who agrips the birth of light and darkness.
What hands? Your blood? And death?
A flail a darkened eyes a straying sleep.
What a strange metaphor for a burnout.
What a stranger line for a callout.
What a strangest solace to whine about.
Here again, we ponder each ponder each aloud.
None again, we ponder each but alas the cloud.
No more! We’re mulling less than ever before.
Yes, yes, I see you. Though it is dark around.
Make no noise before dawn. For I made a tour
For you to wrap back up your wrist to lounge.
Until you crept much you look behind your back.
And We’ll meet again,when the lance had fallen
upon Each and each of em’ or us or all and none.
Afterwhich,
I popped away, out the viewer’s lane,
To sum accounts, the strands of mane.
Understand? Do count the rain.
By the ripples, not the chain.
Purl and rift and lop so brisk, so master.
Top a risk, a water dense, a matter of sense.
Immerse your cranium, eat your pain to scatter
Across the butter up a pan, still you kiss the bane.
And you stood blue, with or without pain.
What color is it next? Pink? Yellow perhaps.
You scare yourself with thoughts of mishaps.
Rank round the stripes, ropes and lives…oh.
Bare dotted gauges we thank,
of which we cut a blink.
and declare, “I see more than I think.”
Thenofwhich,
Much is seen, To be known.
Much is known, you will see.
Never or now, now or never.
No man of lips can whisper through a
didgeridoo.
Let a cricket hear you moan before your lips
of blue.
Resent! Listen and reply to an echo of an ugly voice.
You're still a child, a child of responsibilities,
Is it that which you call your toys?
So I've declared its nature now it empties
What sensitive brotherhoods, Akins, relatives,
Whatever. You do you hate it more than those
Whispers and whimpers you make up prose,
Like a model’s ugly review of the winners.
A loss isn't much of an effect than your cause.
I beg the corridor linen quake,
I beg the dice to loan an odd for a brake.
But the lance isn’t so seep,
And I'm gone, unto no sleep.
Thus listen, in darkness twilight.
In the dullness of a careless night,
Of that pale moonlight,
Who tugged the bight
up the greatest summit height.
Hush the song, puff—so much noise.
There are verses listening to you,
And there are songs listening to you.
Every time you run out of battery.
Run back to crescendos bowing in retrograde.
Oh now its the ocean’s raid, is what it's made
From your annoying back scratching aims.
Its a question asked what would the names.
And I would mend your beady pecks,
When there's no Cigarettes After ***.
Make me make you sleep.
Hindly hurl your hurdle heap,
Torch the zephyr you interkeep.
And fly.
Beneath your idle numen sky.
In ties with the barrier crossing billows
Ordains rushed to have all,
All the essays of the masters moments ago.
Ambrosia ornaments wrawl,
Crawl a moment ago, and then and then so,
Mirror heaven night.
No more noises white;
See false and you won't fight;
see it wrong to be right.
Is this a dream?
The words you’re witnessing.
Does it paint confusion?
Or celestial dissolution?
Whatever whatever.
Let us go then, you and I.
When the evening is spread out against the sky.
Like our leaden night of decomprehensibles,
Pillows—any pillow, you're good to cry.
Upon any reason agrip.
We started the night and we ended twice.
And you don't need to know why
the lance is as often as seep
When I read to you,
Before and after,
Your poems unto sleep.
