Friday, February 24, 2012

Have a Poem

There is nothing to be said,
Never was.  Clarity of sound
Is not a given, it is a created.
It looks so dirty under the sun
All the sounds in the world,
And not one of them to put a name
To it that will stick.  Prattle brain,
Be still.  Silence is your strength.
Then and only then
A name comes to seem a thing,
Hydra-headed, orchid-like,
Familial, with an alien sting.

Only in special cases is it the mind
They wish to marry.  It comes wrapped
In ecstasies of the flesh
Or grotesque cheeks and chins
That never really were beside the point.
But some are more beautiful
Than others in walks of the spirit.
The mind is tossed off a cliff
That is also a horizon
And lands on its feet in the air.
Here we are, out here, beyond the fat.
The wind draws you in.

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