2013-01-13


the dying

the dying of the eye
that lifts mercury myth
above slow encounter
is a clock's breath
a last childish prayer
fuming at the encounter

resting on saturated pillows
where sallow reefs no more
leave contentions good dead bye
in hallowed eye on to
that skirts circular bends
with ways of no defense
– toil-tools and terror –

wasting lifetimes and dreams
begins with folly
boiling blood youth
and aftermath
pale on the whiteboard
wanting dark funerals
and mad pyres

so time it seemed
concurred with essence
or its consecutive in law ways
of doing the right thing
in the right eye
by contemporary standard

the I and its rolling
against the turbomilitant
instead of I do not
is such a crowd dare
to the insignified
dying to here solidify
alert beside
the incongruous
of a not I

I am not the I
nor the you beside me
I am the eye




Poetry by Bob
Read 621 times
Written on 2015-01-13 at 21:44

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text