Tuesday, April 14, 2009


I wake up this morning with poetry
with green book covering many faces
faces undergone many phases
of green-glass mottos and colonies
of sad, long forlorn memories
when life was a ballad only
cruel, mournful, lonely
it plagued the unplaguable

we wonder of its clarinets
playing music without melodies
discarded somewhere within the histories
of us, lonely birds, loving
the essential, careful steps
toward immortality glowing
its shades onto the clefts
of opening for many decades

we lost the holy wilderness
in the bouquet of the earnest
it burns my skeleton
just to think about it

You , oh classic, stay praying
within the rhymes of my prayer
grown the thorns of the grayer
liturgy penetrating me
without permission without joy

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