deepundergroundpoetry.com

black rose in repose

her pulse �� inerts itself
in the dirt, my heart

keeps ragged �time �next to hers,
talks in scoffs, talks

in ticks and tocks
'til blown well to particles apart

to drift lonely as a shiver
quivering in chill dark, and twice so frail

as the slip of a shadow
caught within the hustle and the bluster

of the wicked winds of Winter, piano kissedt of night,
to walk bluely, the baluster rail

over wide black Verona, slick with moonlight
& tears falling, from the God's eye on high.

�� Having been long in lust with fretless, dreamy darkness.
�Having been stubborn in pursuit, O aphotic Juliet, of thee,

Down the vistas and the arches
of childish things, my heart

& Darling, She
Whose lips, face, and fair'st form
Warm the storms, and spin a web of delicate dawn �

- but remain cold as steel in true light
�when touch'd to fingertips, �never to be felt quite,
�& listless rather, muffled,
passionless as grey ghost fire

heard only in whispers here
from the languid ledge on high
�as I,
& caught from such a height O

the whole circus tent of love exploding like glass,
Shards of music & the splintered carapace
�of memory scattered
All throughout this low vale of shrouds,

Blank, Black Verona
Recollects in motor gloom, �&
Gathers now my stammer dull in dull mud,

to alchemize in the howl below
- yet twice again so cold and mechanical,
Where once was raised a golden palace of young love
Now but i beg aloud and alone :

Let me down softly & quite out!
to drink full-deep � � �
the waters bitter-sweet of Lethe! - and simply forget

the assessments of a life divided
& flash-frozen to thorns of ice in winter's boreal breath.

Like the blood of her black rose in bloom,
Which chafes across the arc of our arms - and is dross
As my will has become,

- and hers, Bewildered senseless amongst the thousand fogs
Of my futile turns,
Drawn still to nothingness until lost
Utterly, utterly

Within the loose lashing of violent things, �my heart,
Turned again, whispering itself to sleepless ash,
Like petals drying on a long forgotten hearth.

Now to bleed only blackened flowers up from the wound
Where we form like pillars of salt,
The unchangeable repose of stone
to tally the toil of dark things, the night, my heart.

So take from me, my Love, the poisons of your kiss, �
Take from me this longing, and the strife
��which is the sum -
and tomorrow I shall conceive another one
- and all the tomorrows thereafter.