Tuesday, December 20, 2011

On the nature of things

Constituent bits of matter
From which all things rise and fall
And so doing reclaim their ancient format
Hexagonal princes, pinches of snuff
Tankards of remembrances sloshing
In a rage to be emptied, to earn immolation
We begin to end when we sense our beginning's end
Shuttling to a peak, downcast in perfection
Open a forum to the vocal majority
A mass of men with an odd death wish
whose picture of pleasure
is decadence so acute and so charged
it can hardly be called to memory
And in memoriam we jest
What enters blessed expires ash

No comments:

Post a Comment