Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Releasing a Parade of Monday Evenings

The interim shelf of time to store
The potions a poet can no longer both
Continue to breathe and imbibe

Is a manner of God
Like an atom shifting out the body
Love ceasing not for lack of want

But for want of the peace of acceptance
Of what one cannot be
Knowing there is no reservoir

The poetry must flutter off like doves and ravens to the roost
Cooing and cawing at a distance for the sound to muffle
In the winds of recollection so that the detail in the painter’s stroke

Becomes dulled into mud words and sponge cake dreams
The decadence of detail is a lost child forgotten
In the cradle of God’s procession

That a man can high-hope to be what he cannot see
Wandering, swimming, flying off
Praying what returns is a beauty beyond what was possible without


Release 

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