IV

of the splendid joy of manifest
come the festering of instinct
what have I laid down before thee
the thundering of belly
the haplessness of tribute
altho, I fair nothing in that
placement
I do feel the focus of a far unlit time
where agents of purity are a nostalgic tyranny
place not thine’s hopes in thine’s hands
let the peacemakers make the peace
and the warmongers make the war
let only the lively understand
that living is more than just an acquisition
and time more than a calculation

February 3, 1997

ШАМРО
from paper hanging son of a bitch
© 1997 private stock poetry
no epitaphs remembered
© 2007 woundedlordliterature