When
my eyes
without power
or lustre
mourn this rare earth
mind bleeding thorns
hour after hour...
blue moon
you send me
scrambling
to the place
where words mingle
then snatch me
up
and
down
til these fingers lie
limp
beside my thought's ebbing
tide; listen
I need...
to write the tale
blood racing, nostrils
wide width
language all ablaze! |
