What
say we kindred will we believe in us?
Will we let us say that there is nothing quite
So
winsome as the Icelandic pony’s rage?
Can our hearts contain such sublime cuteness?
History
will absolve us when we say in our right
Mind
that we are immortal that we know
One in
a thousand dies of loneliness and given
The
choice of two lovers we choose the one
Who
never existed O we who use our bones
To scratch our names backwards in forgotten soil
Every letter a mystery every sound reversed and
Of course we
envy evening and try to remember
How
to set down a challenge to the stars we
Who wound ourselves against our own bones
No comments:
Post a Comment