High pressured words boiled
To the bone marrow
Heated in a savor whistle rushing steam,
Chased by the pop-up lake quick storms
And racing sky;
In a moment of silence I stand before you
Like a broken woe
Stitched with ashen golden light novel love verses
Never touched, but present in every line;
Now caught is my phrase with your fishing pole
MoonindexAnd the Moonlight net is pinned to a single photon
That bleeds hooked on a dark lure of the fallen logic–
Thoughts that too often men cannot follow
“Do you make any sense after all?”–
The far thunder breaks
And the razor question clenches in the throat
While the Swiss-cheese moon fills the relished holes
With fast fleeting winged cloud patches;
Oh, that over and over edged passing night.

Inspiration: Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy (14 March 1844 – 30 January 1881), Ode, from Music and Moonlight (1874)

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.



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