the four noble truths set me down the eightfold path budding dharma bum
lying on the floor bedroom dim behind drawn shades a saxophone wails
This poem was an experiment. I took Robert Frost’s Acquainted with the Night, retaining his end rhymes and sonnet form, then played with it a bit. I wanted to work with the spacing between words and building smaller poems into the whole. The two lines act as links between phrases (my attempt to show that…
the devil’s in the details, you devious debutante. your dark dealings, brought to light, dare to damage your position. daunting as it seems, this dreadful day draws drearily towards a disappointing end. dapper demagogues declare their distaste for such displays, desperate to distinguish themselves. don’t despair, you dutifully upheld your end against those disgruntled deviants….
will this be what remains of me: the hours worked, certificates gained, events attended? will this be the face, reflected in the gallery of eyes, that never saw me as i was? will this be the voice still reverberating, writhing on airwaves, spouting scripted speech spuriously? will this be the book, writing on the pages…
the soul of the moment, buried ‘neath the rust of moments that passed like smoke, wistfully waning. cast to grey tides, swallowed ‘neath, carried listlessly out to oceans vast.
this conversation warrants libation. you see, your consternation is indication frailty guides your mentation. such trepidation, dear me.