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2008-11-29 | |
The yellow bony grass unwillingly slides
into the full shade of winter.
Donâ€™t you see, my darling?
Not even the shriveled sayings of the wise can shelter
the swift, sharp rising of
this echo hounded, cosmic blast.
Itâ€™s all in vainâ€¦
just gold leafed rubbish our fugitive seasonâ€¦
Unaware, the same pitiless smog infests the veins of the morning.
What a scourge, this cripple miracle:
Iâ€™m the only one surviving the plague!
Iâ€™ll lay to rest the twisted dross of the yearning
in a sycamore coffin.
Oh, but how to erase your shadow
- an image of perfection,
how to undress my disobedient body
of the scars deeply cut by your tenderness?
When I look back I see
And now this maniac future
grabbing yesterday and relentlessly dragging it...
blind leading the blind.
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