November 2011
4 posts
2 tags
04 [POEM]
the poet’s teeth are wet with tonguelessness his audience is deaf to his throat which is a cave where the sleeping rustle of bats is as silent as the dripping stones by which they sleep the angels are philistines who have never seen the cavern in which their opposite rests, tired and damp, made wingless from his lack of pretension man is a slug which must be guarded from suicide, which it...
2 tags
03 [POEM]
where is the pleasure in suffering that the heart had so often been promised when it rolled with the blackness of raining seas, when a wind blew and took it like dust? with the guide of my Circe’s corruption I know how loving and living conflict to endlessly feed the soul’s disruption which churns like the boiling mud of the Styx contentment is a snowy rabbit that dodges into the tall...
1 tag
