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Edgar

09 Nov

It doesn’t require a particular song
No melody, no harmony to bring upon
The dance that forces a heart beating out
Of rhythm to succumb to the elegant flows
Of nature—melodious and loud and forgiving.

Feeling out of place, my skin belongs to another
And I have no particular dwelling to name home or
Even respite, but I might just be able to take in this leg
Of the journey as an ancient plenary indulgence, to cleanse
A pock-marked soul of so many injustices and harms inflicted
Upon an already damaged world, and yes, most were intentional.

This is my penance, an open sky and quicksand squishing between my
Fat toes. While all indications point to a grim demise, hope still rests quite
In my mind’s eye. Logic betrays its place there, but logic no longer holds value
In a universe that changes all laws, fragmenting all measure of cosmic syzygy in
The electron-spectacle of a physicists’ brain, dripping wet with illusion thought of
As sound theory. Poor, poor foolishness to believe you have found the mechanism in
The ways of gods and monsters. No. I will not drown today in the pool that will eventually

Swallow me

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Posted by on November 9, 2011 in POETRY: Self portrait

 

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