Murder and Volume

Rather...as in time's outspread arms...

wholes are passed over without

proper incident.

This is to speak of murder...tucked

in and out, muting the reddened 

choirs that press through pores.

Leaving as what's left off-- the tangled

butterflies of name and number.

Murder...the only way to alight one's

shadow passed the technicality of its

necessity--no more, our only light

to beat our only meat upon our only

ground.

Rages fully informed swap their vigorous

debt lamely... weight cut down and 

down.

By this...there's a sense of how a heaven

stays afloat...volume.

Let it not be so.

Konstantinos Mark

Reviews

[comingbackforyou]

i love this. i like how u in titled ur title in with ur poem and how u gave great image of every thing

fav. line- this is to speak of murder....tucked in and out, muting the redden choirs that press though pores.