Peacock - Poem by jerome moore
and why shouldn't you be upset with me!
me, a scabrous leper of vitriol?
a tiny speck of blood in the yolk of the world?
our worlds whom grasp for and at each other but adorn slippery fingers
wet from our sadness and bulwark…
a nervous dissention of opinion
a taciturn image of a merry go round pier
half fallen into the grinning abyss
which is open like a closet door in a slumbering child's night
with smells of piss and burnt cedar
The whimsy of ultimo Thule?
all seeing eye
Comments about Peacock by jerome moore
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.