Nostradomesque
I was feeling like Nostradamus yesterday:
why dig
behold the last passing of the sun of sin
withholding under my prestigious aims
fortune's wary of the divine wrath stone.
an argument's membrane secures only in peace.
it's a sin, said the actor , and none but the fools carry the gold.
and through my eyes i cast out the face of wings
as actual as a walk in the night
under white capped waves.
my wit is hunger
my end time is fed
by the wishes of hags
of the bats in the stews
and of enigmas wrought from shepherds' toil.
down in the ivory iron cottages,
far back waiting spines for slow sweet
hand-over-hand instruction
lying perforated as it is hemmed
a not castle
broken by the teething men who
by writ and law are not given tongues
are not given hands
who won't give purchase to your calls and cravings.
as it is the stone as it is made
the ever-melting cones emote villainy and cowardice
i am sick and saddened
marooned by schools of fish
out here stating these flat corner plans
humbled by the gray numb
i wear the red splash as a vote for animals
and practice in decay.
he says, son
you've got to sail
into the well.
why dig
behold the last passing of the sun of sin
withholding under my prestigious aims
fortune's wary of the divine wrath stone.
an argument's membrane secures only in peace.
it's a sin, said the actor , and none but the fools carry the gold.
and through my eyes i cast out the face of wings
as actual as a walk in the night
under white capped waves.
my wit is hunger
my end time is fed
by the wishes of hags
of the bats in the stews
and of enigmas wrought from shepherds' toil.
down in the ivory iron cottages,
far back waiting spines for slow sweet
hand-over-hand instruction
lying perforated as it is hemmed
a not castle
broken by the teething men who
by writ and law are not given tongues
are not given hands
who won't give purchase to your calls and cravings.
as it is the stone as it is made
the ever-melting cones emote villainy and cowardice
i am sick and saddened
marooned by schools of fish
out here stating these flat corner plans
humbled by the gray numb
i wear the red splash as a vote for animals
and practice in decay.
he says, son
you've got to sail
into the well.
Labels: Poem
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