Thursday, March 17, 2016

Artful Youth

This is the slate roof,
Me beneath its flat depression.
I sigh into silent relapse
My mind on tilt.

Here is the corner exit,
The world lies adrift in terror.
See all the people.
There's the church, there's the steeple

Groans heave them blighted
Like shivering rabbits all.
Watch that pendulum fall,
Watch the Trumpeter trump as all.

Confound the tight circle,
Rigid in its claustrophobia,
A dispatch from the high house
High on High Hill.

Like Maud and Mable,
Drones to the killer Queen,
The truth takes a nasty turn
As it comes out perverted.

I spit on the greasy palm
Cool fingered, steel fingers
That binds no promise for it's
Deaf to reason, blind to treason

Like stillborn babies
Each rivals to the other,
Twins in comic combat,
We are that awful truth.

Who is the artful youth?

Where is the artful youth?

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