Once again, a dissenting woe
gives lie to night’s
beckon
Once again, you are tried,
tired; as the gong
blisters,
As the mention of sweet
morn glistens the
glands,
Time weeps a river.
When does the sentence fall off the page & a new oblivion step up picking up this Wire of dawn? Where do the stains of ink Perspire if not in the nooks of harm and The shade of a lower noon? Lower than an Inch? Wiser than the tooth that carves I
The forbidden spark of a thousand
boasts
What? we care the plenitude into
a stare
We blink coalesce morph stipulate
tinyness
Into being the spark has been
used/ful