These latter days have tumbled rough
That lid I'd shut cracked open
Unscrewed and flowing with clear
Waters, some bronze, slick lies
Bounce off a memory wall washed clean
Indigo stupor and condensed air
Thrashing alone beneath austere nights
The infant seeks above all to cry
My face is broken by rotten tallow
Swung up by treacherous arms
Levying war against virgin hopes
Sprung on hard tilled earth
Starved of the aroma of social industry
The inner universe slams shut, keep the dove
Of inspiration caged, the clock for
Parallel lives wound back
Folly of follies, but is truth that
Which is made now or before
When frail hearts so easily change
Was it folly to cheer at equinox
A kinder, quieter time, one bound
To the degree of my writ and not
Unfriendly spewing volcanic welts
How far on into newly charted plains
Would my fingers reach, were the whirling
Fire of everyone else's earth not now a prison
For each pitiful second
What foul revealed works
What bedlam, and tired unhappy will.
@nepion_boreas17
