4/8/22

Wrecked Sky at Mourning (a poem)

 


Mourning’s red clouds arise
after the midnight sun
with a day that breaks
like the powder of a gun
wind arises and no one knows
when small rippling patterns mint
where waves will go

The enjambment of lines
is the sweet breadth of time
with knots to cross rolling seas
four poor sheets to reach shore

On high planet plains
stand summits of mortal refrains
hyper-cubes of gruel
lessons learned for school

Row, row, row your oaths
penitently down a stream
barely, barely, barely note
where it leads is not the joke

Mars is higher than Earth’s
moon low on the horizon cloaked
Jupiter izs higher than Mars
Pluto ‘s summary tension stars

The body belongs to the world
yet mind arises within it
terminal flesh crumbles to pathetic dust
while spirit continues without it.

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