The Nacreous Oughts

02 April 2009

"Not a Church Wedding"

I never can remember the morning rain
so quietly does it become a mood,
& thence a land, where all things bent & dismayed
by Time's oppression dwell in immaculate ruin.
The light indoors seems stronger, though unwell.
I wanna/ sit alone & contemplate the taste
of autumn, empire's end, & death; I'd test
bounds, if but in parable to wail
by a gray shore with the immaterial forms...
    Usually I have to go somewhere, which forms
the context of this feeling, for the tarn
I leave behind, unvisited, its murk
& mists & dragging winds lacking my bark
to laze there, counterpoise,
                --begins to churn.


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