the
fierceness of joy those night dams
where
ashes pile numbers into dust.
by
deep penalty or falling ice I cram
the
fierceness of joy those night dams,
if
but silence a dear rant for I Am,
while
souls’ repose in dungeon rust.
the
fierceness of joy those night dams
where
ashes pile numbers into dust.
so
tender into your birth so afar from
insistence,
where asking disqualifies
or
death is so tender, as souls encounter
rage,
for life was so un-gentle, by indelicate fortune;
the
heart impasses at love too insensitive
to
scream or babbling for method a fret in its
design;
either a triolet or a failed remedy so
after
something wrung in rage the
countenance
feeling its wrath a daughter renewed
for
disappointment after miles of running for
life
was so unfriendly.
such
watery faces such mud or grime
as
a creature thrust’d through with shame.
if
caught in your pain a man aches time;
such
watery faces such mud or grime;
those
dreams you’ve lived, won or died;
where
being glory has shunned a flame.
such
watery faces such mud or grime
as
a creature thrust’d through with shame.
