The riotous mass of bone
And hair
And flesh concealed behind masks
Collectively heave-ho the indescribable
The unmentionable
Agony of memory near
And far
Into the air
But that twisted face of barbarism
Does nothing more than allow itself
To be flung into the air
And hang ever so patiently
Quietly
Like fresh bedsheets on the line
During a spring afternoon
Until it is taken down and passed to
Another generation
To be draped under the weight
Yet again.
No comments:
Post a Comment