hatred now and now.A Poem by h d e rushinfor the anniversary of the dying.
PAIN,
In the most incredible manner, which is still the usual word in this sense,
adorned with danger and amazement for a skin covered with ivy or genseng
or the fanciful, evergreen leaves.It's incredible just how short life truly is
when you rearrange the itinerary.When something terrible is missing
like the witnesses of air or Jeremiah who foresaw the calamitous ending
through the lavender lake, where the flowers dry themselves in sachets and press
their own starving braids in the twist of old unread books. I never knew that
namby-pamby meant indecision or the pale excuse to hold something mythical or primitive as a tooth;
to show pimples to the occult as if Majdanek or Sobibor was merely the
braid cord beading of metallic thread. Where the Polish hills shall be fertile
for a thousand years with the ashes of the silent.
Hatred is partitive of the soul where one side is a dance step and
the other, the movemnt of a cape by old men's perching habits.
There is, I imagine, this emblazonry equivalent to, but not greater than,
this window for the firing of canon as truth,
like a messy bird that builds its nest in the steeple of the church
with glitter and samesex textures... © 2012 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on December 29, 2012Last Updated on December 29, 2012 Author
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