Cyburan
Once more she recovered herself
And thrust up her clenched hands in frenzy
Imaginations are clogged with other people’s outputs
You also will be men; it will not belong
If at rare moments you stop smelling sulphur
It’s because you have begun smelling gas
Out of the bowels of the earth like a snake
Put sleep as black as beauty
In the secret of my belly
He had dropped his arm
And stood with his hands against his thighs
Like a statue
3 comments:
Whaoo!
perhaps your pupils were thinking of 'Granchester Meadows'? just call me David Gilmour....
Ohh, didn't comment on the ode did I? to tell you the truth I wish I could...great mysteries to me are poems deep and personal.
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