the chill that settles over the land
is it an omen? the sign of the heart of man
who walks breathes smells and sleeps
eating devouring the beauty and yearns
for a plethora of pleasures
the beautiful weather that speaks
soft voice like a woman falling into the arms of a corpse
are the roots rotting? it is the “end” we are plotting
maybe Koresh was right
looking to the skies for questions touching
foolish fables mistaken myths doors on squeaking hinge all that quivers is not cold (or scared or in love)
perhaps the “chair”?
wooden shoes crush the dust the life the light
rivers of time have come unglued the tapestry unravels
all roads lead to something every soul looking
what price the sight?
ideas float and dance then copulate with men
the offspring drowns and thinks and swallows deep
breathing polluted love from the sunspots
in her eyes
then it is gone the indian summer that cannot
quite heat the bones the skeleton that rattles
battles are finished and alone and frozen stands
the object. (he wraps his cloak around him and
walks back into the dark reaches of the
imaginings)
Originally written in ALL CAPS, but formatted in lowercase here for ease of reading. Also, I signed the original manuscript "Wil Chandelle", leaving off my surname.