Tuesday, January 28, 2014

The Sun is Not There: A Sound Experiment

I ask this of you right now

Maybe the sun is not there for the peddlers

The jacks of tirades

The artisans of peppers

The conveyors of words?


Hope breached by the almighty nothing

The stupendous lie

He who is bidden could be mistaken

By his biding for time

In fact he is bitten by the firm jab of fear’s metal blade


The bite of rust nicks supple flesh

Fast he is wrested away by the nape

Only to be jarred into coherence by the nigh   

All wrong is everything

And everything is awry.


The sullenness of sighs

The rhetorical Why

This mere dust among loneliness

The rafters and riddles of cries of surprise.


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