the bleeding beat,
	it sows so sweet a misery
	that only jumps its sombre pace
	when landing at her feet.

But Oh!         What Dreadful Havoc             /Her countenance
                Hath She Wrought                /a cannonball
                Upon the Ramparts               /to armor plates
                Of My Heart                     /and mortar walls
	
and in her lacking?  
	lonely notes.  from pianos black
		with minor keys, 
the sombre march of major locks.

Stars shriek 
	of their radiant heat
	their burning hearts
	beset by light
	that only marks their very edges,
	tiny deaths of blinding white.

And Oh!	       What Fiery Spirit                /My bosom rent 
               Must She Court                   /by basest shades,
               With All the Blazes              /its edges bound by
               Of Her Heart                     /spans of days
		
and in her laughing?
	children's knees.  the lonely bones
		from bulbs derived,
while cutting fine their filaments.

this bleeding beat,
	it sows so sweet a misery
	that only leaps its solemn cant
	when landing at her feet.

§1935 · December 10, 2007 · Tags: ·

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