The well sits empty
Near the shed in ashes
As the transformational grammar
Of seasons snakes along
A bewildered meaning
Portending sense of nonsense
By any exegetic measure
A world whose beauty
Condemns it to death.
The well sits empty
Near the shed in ashes
As the transformational grammar
Of seasons snakes along
A bewildered meaning
Portending sense of nonsense
By any exegetic measure
A world whose beauty
Condemns it to death.
Umbriate Press Poetry 