The Panic of Life

 
Sweet glabrous stem
of the wind overhanging,
below in the fires,
in the earthenware born–
bare in the small, in the stoic and the slim,
cut open what’s thin
and what falls into form.
Full light of the moon
and the tough of a blight,
as the shy ever was,
ever was, ever was–
and the piceous dawn,
that is sore and sound warned,
of the you, and the you,
and the you they adorn.
And we’re through
And we’re through,
of the black final push,
of the plush life you scorned
you are calico born,
through flush and the thrush
in the sparkling stream
in the tin-tin-tin of
a ten-footed dream,
from the air and what was,
at once we remember,
dismember,
without gall, without wing,
without rambling pitch
in the dark dark dark of the
murk of the bark,
we sink and we
swim and we’re bleak and we’re thin
till we’re gone
till we’re gone
prove us wrong,
prove us wrong.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
[Post for DversePoets Open Link Night Week 48 – It’s nice to be back! It feels like forever since I’ve posted, how are you all? Let me know what you think of my contribution today! x]