POE FOOL'S POETRY CORNER




UNDEAD MEAN(S)


Forged in heaven or hell,

It was as if it still had something to live for

It crawled from the grave all enslaved by disease and geometries

elsewhere

The Last Ones they cried, 

"Will we ever see the Return of the Great Wheel?"

And cried as though crying was dust made chance.

 

Chance will yet solve all the dead tissue of thoughts.

Chances are their rictus smiles will grin at fortune.

It's wrong to spoil their earthless song with remembrance without

number.

The Last Ones they cried, "Where's the Great Wave?"


Enflamed where carbon spoils, it 

Crawled with no sun or form.

Patterns impede its arc,

The void she swirls in eddies and spills.


Rears the Great Steed,

Disdains the Great Mane,

And so the once great are estranged.

And all temposense is shattered.

 

Suggested musical accompaniment: 'Such Hawks Such Hounds' by Dead Meadow

https://reverberationappreciation.bandcamp.com/track/such-hawks-such-hounds

https://reverberationappreciation.bandcamp.com/album/levitation-sessions-7

Please buy on Bandcamp Friday. 


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