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22 February 2010

in old thoughtlines madness whispers
siren’s songing, endless repeating
skylark, glee-beam, no safe-keeping
where all is only night-dark blisters
raised wounds on skin not yet healed
from former falls, ranged far afield.

glistening gardens of sad delight
are the essence of the night.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Justin permalink
    24 February 2010 14:14

    You know I usually send you my thoughts on your posts in private, but I have to say, this is (I think) my favorite thing you’ve posted on here yet. Simple, elegant; its word-usage has a very Anglo-Saxon quality to it. More like this, please!

  2. 25 February 2010 13:48

    Thanks! Sometimes I just hear the poem in the constant noise in my skull; this was one of those.

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