To The Critic Poem by Christable Anon
To The Critic
The world has washed
Its body in the gurgle down the stiff bodies
Interspersed in climate and cloud of the green bones
The world has chosen me
An organ within bleeding
with plush impulse
and metonymy
of a cult-fused moon
thriving on electric shoot
charged from its throat
all fingers in music
all fingers strumming the basics
to watch him cry
to watch him seasoning in the sun…
chosen by the world? Seasoning in the sun... apparently I find it rather surprising that there is only the music, and no mention of its reason. the basics - yes. beautiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 10:24:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Intersting and well written piece