Thursday, March 3, 2011

Not To Be Titled

There is no title for this poem
There is no name for this sorrow
There is no label for this joy
There are only the floating, flitting, dancing
Careening, crashing, sighing nights
With dragons for wings and wings for eyes
All colluding to bring joyous, crashing symbols
To the never land of your despair
You cannot comprehend the eternal
Or the never
And your love is wasted on the dead
Bring only your seeking
Search on comrade
Find the fruitful buried there in vulgar words
How bereft we can all be
At the ceremony of naming
Boxed up in appropriate folders
Stored for another time
Damn it all to hell

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