Saturday, September 17, 2011

3259. THE SONG OF ALFRED MINER

THE SONG OF ALFRED MINER
In my ways of desperate means I have tried
so many things : filled cartfuls of despair
with outlaw angel wings. To both sides of
me, in little ways, others have tried their
infusions, theirs aids. No avail. I have stood,
both steadfast and alone. Those strangled
doors of perception have long ago faded,
a laughable crew, an ample petard. Now,
what passes for my soap is but a cleansing
skull. I leave little behind. I move, crablike,
sideways past rubble and trash; letters
left hanging, dreams that have crashed.
My tent is pitched in graveyards,
all I see is past.

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