insipid within, missing part of a soul
as if venter and atria have long been
barren—
chronic nostalgia
in flute-song;
dross-dammed heart-spring, made wadi-dry
by a life's pursuit of root & moirae;
you—
my core,
my excised anima;
not knowing where you've been;
oh, where you are,
still
heartache—
my love
here & now—
my ever diminishing umbra;
while harmonics begin, refrain stays in,
yet mora bounds
familiar.
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4 comments:
oooo .. this is kind of spine chilling .. i actually think the poem's in the last half ...
or maybe there are two separate poems here ...
or maybe i'm just talking a load of dross-damned (dammed)nonsense lol
ha ha Shell ... and now it's butchered (as most of them are) ...
and i think it's finally dead (maybe all the better that way) ...
i almost deleted this lasts night but ... this being a diary, i thought not ...
oh well, it is what it is and should stay that way ... no?
lol
yes it should ...
i had a mess with it but really wasn't sure how you and language are dicing each other up atm ...
oh, where you are
still, my excised anima, chronic
nostalgia in flute-song,
not knowing where you've been,
insipid within, missing part of a soul
as if venter and atria have long been
barren—
dross-dammed heart-spring, made wadi-dry
by a life's pursuit of root & moirae;
you — my core, heartache
my love
here & now —
this diminishing umbra;
harmonics tip in, refrain fades out,
mora bounds
familiar.
ah Shell, how wonderful ... (esp. as compared to my "police constable's report style" ha ha) ... thank you, hank you ... all credits to you and this version ... (right on the mark, i must say) ...
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