Friday, January 6, 2012

Fumbling Past The Toe of Its head

No one really wants to do it,
But the hero, if it is
As sad and magnificent
As the hyena

Or the tear
As it evokes
Such customary rooms

What beast
Will take a hammer
To the sovereign

The sovereign beast
All nothing
In truth

But winds
Are romantic
And near the edges
Of these vast chaotic plains
Sarcovithic winds
Crash in
From the sea

Spice now buried
In joyous and agile
Ape-like clouds

To reign