deepundergroundpoetry.com

Who Knew To Know Who Filched Thee Irony ?

bestsweet Irony is felt,
� � � � � � not 'defined'
� not spoken out/out speaking
� � �to the crackling heat
� � � � degrading itself
� � � � to chilly chill
� � �(as must always will)
� doing ill'ness in to
a vast dis'ease, a more pandemic
plague
where no one says, nor can know, h'ow
� � rueful is the glory they(we)
� preside
over.......

� � � � � an irreversion of chance (by
� � � � such inexplicably lame syntaxial
� � � � � � � � � � � � � word disabused,
� � � � while bein' fucked-over, (whatever
� � � � one
might insist upon That as being)

do
ye
follow the tracking here? (yOur pack'age Will Arrive
� � � �soon during the coming decade, assuming
a more[much,very] fruitful decade than we've
� � � �been left to believe)....such

an alonesome era, this far along, sadly
� � � �cries(quiet!) for
� � �an animate, pulsing, new lean being,
soft'hard e'nough
� � � � to keep breath cessation at bay,
with some
� �thing resembling some kindly fresh
� � � �peace of love /

(Misery Is A Butterfly, pleas come as soon
� � �as no one is lookin't'see
� � � � � � this sunbright i'rony)

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2015dkzkFOTOriginaleBY:dkzk..."Th'FoolForLoveFoolsWee"