The Rest Of It
Secret pillagers that protect the heart
unwittingly open like a mould
the never courteous
mirror floor.
What now floats decays & is knowing
drives the primrose nail into
amputated earth
will not rise
gaily to hobble. Fronds inter-
leave & the occupier pulls his weight
in froth & froth lives.
Pink sang-froid, sky over
wretched wounds in the victory pillar.
"K.M. Sutherland" wrote:
> it is a robust world, and such
> a robust earth and not afire, pivoted
> nowhere to stare
> out magnificently, and with a roaring glaze
> at daylight which robustly
> inward cannot fall, nor ever shall my heart,
> it is too robust were a face
> off either to trap in to pincer by, yet my own great
> dread should not ever fail, I have far
> too nerve for this, it is yet ever rancid default
> intransigence and to floods out
> far to cheapen real death even laced
> in brain with piss coke-mash not a word breaks
> near to even against this I ever will
> pivot to stare and collide
> with nothing afire, we must never triumph,
> you must never either
>
|