Tortures of the damned

1 comments:

Idiot Proof said...

my view; doubtlessly seen before, doubtlessly to be expounded again.


Private Myth

God, an incandescence
talked and talked
we battered shores
and left the light
far out to sea

God, god
how the time is wasted

I see God in a flare,
bright over the building
caps, limits
of curvature under
massed grey manes
tossed, almost lost
blinking, winking
only a God would be mad enough
to brave these storms
created

She sees God in amphorous arms
of intellectual antagonism,
bare arms in winter,
huge rubber boots in
desert sands azure,
the sky is the real copper
and snow the real goose-bump

God, god
how the time is wasted

I love streets almost
to the point of nature,
the fastflow of low machine
and the creak of soles on asphalt
Man barrels so with lines
created

I remember the story of blind mice

Would that we could be
happy with an answer,
satisfied with an opus
written

Believe in the sanctity of faeries,
and the willow-steps of wind

Believe in my madness,
and the goodness of an aura
only just met

God, god
how the time is wasted

She,
I,
God,

and who is wasting what?

April 1, 2009 at 12:16 AM  

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