The work of the poet

is one of the cobbler

making wearing and rapping

to the beat of the same old song

better in the worlds of useful things

is the warp in the tune that

makes you swoon

with ebvy and post-natal bepression

like jewish princes you walk

like the man on the hill.

It took not a sorrow of being

to make me understand that all was not

over here on earth

to be here and not there

on the spring of the morrow

makes the things of the past

seem alone again with you

in my arms like sombre

intentions and

unknown desires.

I will not be able

to make the enduring tidal

warping but I will

ask awhile for the use

of your

springs to make me

alive again.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: