deepundergroundpoetry.com
Yours but not at Wadham
There's beauty in sandlice,
skipping over the cathedral I drew
in sand droppings,
shape of my Mother's face
her gentle rain
that never let me go.
And the sea sings in Moons and Compasses,
hungers for toes,
a truth only the baptised know
and I don't mean on the floors of mankind,
but earth divine,
rocks me,
strokes me,
thieves
my mind and immerses her
in white lines,
shaving away
shadow decay,
made from fingers and clothes,
I take them
off my skin,
burn the humanity,
burn the sky and lay
peaceful,
giving myself over,
not for show,
wild orb of purity -
so unafraid,
with no delay.
There's no malice here,
know I'll always care
in deep, bound shadow
but I crave the light
and so,
as we so often do,
I purge what's unhealthy,
blind myself to it,
write
something wild,
something right.
full-hearted.
The sandlice bounce over my soles.
skipping over the cathedral I drew
in sand droppings,
shape of my Mother's face
her gentle rain
that never let me go.
And the sea sings in Moons and Compasses,
hungers for toes,
a truth only the baptised know
and I don't mean on the floors of mankind,
but earth divine,
rocks me,
strokes me,
thieves
my mind and immerses her
in white lines,
shaving away
shadow decay,
made from fingers and clothes,
I take them
off my skin,
burn the humanity,
burn the sky and lay
peaceful,
giving myself over,
not for show,
wild orb of purity -
so unafraid,
with no delay.
There's no malice here,
know I'll always care
in deep, bound shadow
but I crave the light
and so,
as we so often do,
I purge what's unhealthy,
blind myself to it,
write
something wild,
something right.
full-hearted.
The sandlice bounce over my soles.
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