Confounding the stupefied senses, the
syllabus, schedules of uninformed winner
you’ve reliably opened a festering wound,
spending lunch money upon trinkets of dinner
Empty the cup that was never quite full,
all the seats cold and audience, waiting
there’s no more rind or gristle to eat
and no one left, to hear the debating
Slink down now into entertaining covers
and call it all finally done, for a life
wasted and somehow full of wonder,
no loud report, but fish round for a knife
And instantly recall, in blissful drudgery,
some things can’t be cut by the cannon gun
whether eight more lines or only a million
some faces watch, from which you don’t run
Quiet cannibals, eating your sorrows
angels who lift any plagues from your land
mouths that sit, ready for morsels
morsels that come from only your hand
Sing now, with wretched rooster of morning
sing loud of his majesty and curse his name
take small solace in dimwitted knowledge…
no one is salvation and no one’s to blame
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.
Kevin Trent Boswell 