John Tristan Tench

Rags canvassing the obscured windshield-
Oh, how futile the effort.
Loud mumblings of people aloft;
My eyes I do for bright light shield.
...

Pubescence Dawn's with a new hairy uneasiness:
The fact of life, the talk of a man.
Deep stature and a voice that cracks the Earth.
The perfume of life, or just a devilish odour.
...

...

A garden poisoned by the vilest of things;
By the conning in things- by the serpent
In things. A plan wrought afore
The foundations of Lady Wisdom; the
...

The moon sways on the axes of our dreams,
Lighting the night only so much.
So much for night's beasts to folic;
So much that we may hide from them;
...

I can barely remember the days when I
Did not tell the page of my suffering;
When I did not fall on it and bleed my pen dry
The sorrows of my week;
...