The bloodhound white roses stricken with fright
Like the Cyclops greet the Voyaging,
beauty driven forth to die will descend.
The loss of its Light to sparkling vines, then
Appearing comes to my Tree, a my Mind,
rustling green Leaves undertake sentience
Quickenig breathe the ether of Timefalls
But against its decimation, it Wields
Itself as Itself and as none other,
the life of mystery the ground endures
by eternal promise it defies death.
All at once in a bloom it expresses.
What by the Listener is wanting is heard.
But back to the rose, to its contentions:
that it is what it wanted to be
a license to lose Authority frees
a dream is a song and a song a dream
The law of poetry suffices all.
The sun takes away what a stem has lost.
Both were taken to the task to UnDo.
Finish the fiction what it did not Do.
Repetition is rhythm-forsaken rhyme
Announced an eternal introduction
De-clawing itself of its vexing scratch.
--Verdant their ventricles glowed as they Breathed.
A brain is as an imagination
a rhyme is its principle offering
though it have no other purpose the Same.
--
Are these the final qualities of art
are they the afterthoughts of yesterday?
Like the Cyclops greet the Voyaging,
beauty driven forth to die will descend.
The loss of its Light to sparkling vines, then
Appearing comes to my Tree, a my Mind,
rustling green Leaves undertake sentience
Quickenig breathe the ether of Timefalls
But against its decimation, it Wields
Itself as Itself and as none other,
the life of mystery the ground endures
by eternal promise it defies death.
All at once in a bloom it expresses.
What by the Listener is wanting is heard.
But back to the rose, to its contentions:
that it is what it wanted to be
a license to lose Authority frees
a dream is a song and a song a dream
The law of poetry suffices all.
The sun takes away what a stem has lost.
Both were taken to the task to UnDo.
Finish the fiction what it did not Do.
Repetition is rhythm-forsaken rhyme
Announced an eternal introduction
De-clawing itself of its vexing scratch.
--Verdant their ventricles glowed as they Breathed.
A brain is as an imagination
a rhyme is its principle offering
though it have no other purpose the Same.
--
Are these the final qualities of art
are they the afterthoughts of yesterday?
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