Would I Dare Again To Picture Such a View

not since. not since it all.

the grounding of the fog

the impounding of all belonging;

naked as a grinding wheel as spins eternal crown;

 

the quarrel of the snow

the tightly hacked convulsion from calm to carnivore.

in chimney pot of melted fox where drips the paupers spleen

bickers the trespass upon earths molten glow;

 

flower of a Satan foot where stands supreme

an echo of a branching of a dream

lays me down between theatrics of a playful and a mean;

and a psalm for my grimacing ears;

 

upon the spreading of the straw

upon the hounding of the bog

the embalmed embrace of elbows wilting faith;

(where the ending of the Cohen haunts me still)

 

Lord of intravenous in this stuffed up prayer

now stands with soldiers of coal

in their coats of arms behind the settlement of grief

as minutes take the inches from the hours of the ill;

 

before the changing of the guard

before the changing of the crew

as spring hopes universal, not referral to the few.

not since. not since it all

would I dare again to picture such a view;