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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