When I shudder
to take thy pulpy pink
The baby born
Know it,
that
I wrestle my faith
To quiver
somewhere, there
In the wreck of the modern age
Time bomb, pins up
In a blast; ticking away ... all
and
wreath the last, the least;
to defuse
the tickling sound
still ticking...
in silent graves!
No comments:
Post a Comment