When I draw back
the weathered cloaks of my being
there should seem revealed ...another city,
drifting on water
with bruised and wounded garrisons of spirit-
citizens stationed in vigilence of
the treacheries to their bastions of generation
and in reverie to the holy organic hymns
of eloquent sunlight
scattering
widely...
The sounds of a brave heart.beat.
measuring the time
it takes to file
the venerable volumes of cultivated institution
piled in careless vaults,
towers teetering in the midst of their streets
and between their lamps-
winding along the
creeks
of
yellow
energy
lining the limits
of the
city
and
dividing
the
empty
outer
pastures
into
secret
passages
of
exile-
quietly
propagating
a philosophy of shadows and dust
forming walls of corrugation to surround
my palace of copper and triumph.
oh i really liked this...love how you shaped it and underlined the flow of your words by forming them...some great lines and fantastic flow...The sounds of a brave heart.beat.
ReplyDeletemeasuring the time
it takes to file ...great structure
this is gorgeous...great form to accompany your words...true art...well played...
ReplyDelete