raucous

Poesy

 

 

...........

 

and this thing called poetry, 


plucked from a pocket 


of space and time.


*


a blindly adorned subtlety


flowing from the wings 


of angels' thoughts unthought,


but with sultry desire.


*


a rhythmic taste 


of word salad


that fumbles all 


too easily and too often


from the lips of poets that choke 


on the salty aftertaste of


frivolous candor,


with a raucous brouhaha


likened to a howl 


from the maw 


of a wild banshee.


*

 

untamed and yet,


so wildly untainted


in the heat 


of  it's innocent discourse


that one can only 


breathe deeply,


the sensation of the moment,


and know how it feels to 


wear the cloak of truth.

 

*

 

4:03 AM 8/11/2013 ©


.................