Rated
Nov 14
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1 review
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graphic design, poetry, design
• midnightdesign.ws

"I the Thief"
I the thief of yet another moment's breath in evening's long
Dusk shallow shadows robed in azures, scarlets, saffron dawns
And early morning's hues awaken all that was the song
Of my beginnings, this noöne in the present throng
Of choral works from newly grafted branches, kinetic, sweet
And fragrant, phrased in phases, waves of artificial dewdrops, cells
Or blessings born of patchwork by the millions, contemplating, held
At bay in multiples of billions 'gainst the want of heat
Required to father further branches to reinforce and swell
The battered trunk and bypassed arteries the every night,
Finding copular verbs at last while having lost my leaves.
Autumnal beings make no progress; nothing green,
Nothing winged nor crawling thing to cast to break the spell
Of summer's children notwithstanding need as all potentials are
Perhaps beguiled by moonlight, but gone within the hour.
The tests are in the sonnets here, not there,
And in their proffering, some final testament, receipts
Drawn daily on the little poet here who as he sleeps
Forgets his manners, loses little thought or care
To what he might have meant, knowing only that it came
Across his mind to see it so and so he wrote. He quickly feigns
Reactions in the Petri dish, collusion with the rain
And damp and all that claims cognition as it gains
Momentum whence it came by dint of natural will.
Mindless arbitration governs poetry and showers as both spill
Syllables and nature's addled waste with little prudence on hill
And ear, in every heart and valley unrequited, unrestrained:
The hand, the pen, the word unto itself reveals
An effortless encounter, in ancient intercourse,
and "there's the key...."