Dadaistic...
What . . . ?
In a single floral stroke.
What is there?
In these depths
Of these walls…
This gap in time,
Against which we have been projected -
Mystery of missing ships -
To follow this path of their brief blossoming
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed…
Is your ashen moon to grow?
I might have happily lived some other childhood
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless,
Roiling on and on and on,
This season not their own,
Come, swallows, its good-bye!
In a single floral stroke.
What is there?
In these depths
Of these walls…
This gap in time,
Against which we have been projected -
Mystery of missing ships -
To follow this path of their brief blossoming
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed…
Is your ashen moon to grow?
I might have happily lived some other childhood
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless,
Roiling on and on and on,
This season not their own,
Come, swallows, its good-bye!
2 comments:
I have not visited in quite a few days. Reading back over the recent farewells and reflections, ... and I thought this one particularly poignant. It seems to me less 'dadaistic' than some of your others. I like the way 'rudderless' picks up the 'missing ships' imagery. Haunting imagery: pile of corpses, ashen moon, other childhood.
ohh .. this is wonderful .. it made me shudder ..
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