Struggle from
the copestone
you bad-Christ
to a wasteland
of witness
where every
rock
is guttered
with shit
where all the
flinted
and angular and
strange
mocks the birds
who have
nothing
unrisen angels
grieving
the stone
tumuli
swollen over the artery
swollen over the artery
Angry or not, I really like this poem, Danny. Curious the effect, how the stanzas at each end collapse into the middle ones. The birds then bear more weight, but who can at least fly away for awhile.
ReplyDeleteWelcome Danny:-) powerful and dark I love it:-)
ReplyDelete