Here I am maddened
by what he gave me.
From the fourth floor of
this spell I will make
circles in the darkness-
I won't sing.
An aimless ascent
In the mote filled air,
Beaten and stricken
with mistiming. I
flutter past his door
on a spot, home in.
a blot on the moon,
He sleeps and rises
without me.
No comments:
Post a Comment