Saturday, 13 December 2008

The Moon's My Constant Mistress

The clustering of words, inkthick, typefraught,
A newsprint tablecloth, crumpled rhetoric
Droning falsehood across the breakfast, outdoors.

The haw-thick roadsides, warm-globelets preening,
Sunshone harvests of ghoul-trees, poor foolsfood
For wayfarers, who flinch when: "Sniff my truncheon,"
Dares Plod who soothes with Lethe-laden tea:

Snuffing gravid memories, that clear and torn
In the chamberlight recall that violence
Undeserved since the first great-brained travail.

Misleading loves to rule the argument:
She's refractory in the refectory,
And cataleptic in the cattery,
Earning jugs of knavery, and bread of shavings.

Colombcarrion lies beneath the branches' sough,
Poor peacebird, while this feast of crazies chokes,
And tropes grope the groupies of the lexicon.

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