mendicant's imploration: a requiem for the undead
(a fermenting poem)
forget you? how can i? tasted your fragrance nor felt the reverberations of the rhythmic pulses in waves as you trundle by my wall-less abode, eyes set on horizon, hint of a smile, walk on air past me
you glance not at my art display: coins thrown at random, shiny, dull, face up or down, inscriptions, dates...coins that travel in disdain, in hope, casually to fall and hug my rag, passersby look at my art display furtively before rushing away
i sit here...meditating meanings...conversing with flies...shadows dance around me all day, from one side to the other...they shrink and grow again only to be swallowed by the ever lingering darkness of the heart unaided by ordained meanderings
forget you? how can i? tasted your fragrance nor felt the reverberations of the rhythmic pulses in waves as you trundle by my wall-less abode, eyes set on horizon, hint of a smile, walk on air past me...glide past my canvas...i search every day...not for coins...for an inkling in your eyes...why do i feel denied...who is more dead?
forget you? how can i? tasted your fragrance nor felt the reverberations of the rhythmic pulses in waves as you trundle by my wall-less abode, eyes set on horizon, hint of a smile, walk on air past me
you glance not at my art display: coins thrown at random, shiny, dull, face up or down, inscriptions, dates...coins that travel in disdain, in hope, casually to fall and hug my rag, passersby look at my art display furtively before rushing away
i sit here...meditating meanings...conversing with flies...shadows dance around me all day, from one side to the other...they shrink and grow again only to be swallowed by the ever lingering darkness of the heart unaided by ordained meanderings
forget you? how can i? tasted your fragrance nor felt the reverberations of the rhythmic pulses in waves as you trundle by my wall-less abode, eyes set on horizon, hint of a smile, walk on air past me...glide past my canvas...i search every day...not for coins...for an inkling in your eyes...why do i feel denied...who is more dead?
posted by temporal at 8/15/2006
1 Comments:
lyrical, ruffled and soothing at the same time. Writing evens out those rough edges...
However, slightly over-written. For some odd reason reminded me of the Roy's prose - by no means I am suggesting that it is the same style.
Your originality is forceful..
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