Extended Play
I lummox my way
through another Tuesday ---
cerulean, Cistercian.
I count the days
until James's book drops.
*
Eureka me some poetry,
you Pindar of the turnstiles.
*
My confessor?
She's a gospel
in running shoes.
*
Hildegard of Bingen:
a twelfth-century version
of Christie T, poet and rockstar.
*
Summer is more bane than boon
to my Celtic integument. It vexes me
quite. I hide from its stridency
amid the copious shade
of a million liberal trees.
*
Thomas the belly, redux:
his coffee, his rosary,
his antic compendium
of wacky preachments.
Flaneur among the friars,
this talkative Doctor Dandy.
*
All my sins and songs
have been catalogued:
duly dismal, systematic.
All my brittle virtues,
shelved for posterity.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Read 128 times
Written on 2024-05-22 at 09:08
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