Emoting Molten Touchmarks Poem by Nathan Coppedge

EMOTING MOLTEN TOUCHMARKS

Krept and kept through sunset noon
A sicklenote to keep from passing
I caught my wrinkled throat
Writhing with chastity
Our fields have worn themselves
Our wheat gone blinking into tattered shadow
Feeling kind sleep, mortality
Cubicle discardia
A scrawl in fading leaves
Slim maple shorn of bleak walks
Wavery edges polished like glass
Women in their quivering coats
Savoring garish green
Somehow like molten touchmarks
My fancies were severed in
A moment of discontent and solitude
Click of hard-soled shoes
They did not know my madness
The cobbles are old, as if holding sweat
Calcite culcate columns
Shatter into dust
I am accompanied by
A train of images full of stowaways
Nostalgia seems grim and immortal
Bucolic in the mind of seers
Like broccoli in a moldy bowl of greens
If I were to capture a soul,
It would be like
Whispered rags in tarnished friezes
Hands form one hand, a dual shadow
I was lost, somewhere in Nichomachy

The sun-worn daisy of the spigot
Shone too deeply for the hallows
The sun's coils were a mass of creeps
Drempt-of in the drempt-of weather
Bright emptiness without me sleeps
Blazier than my flashing dreams
Deeper than the soulless creeps
Blasted in the sun-swept weather
Ghastlier than a zombie
The wordless sundance breathless soother
Sadness makes the same sound then sleeps
Doting on her little touchmarks
Time awakens me with an ankle tickle
Who knew immortality was to escape a grave?
The darkness breathes about me mightier
Mightier than me, not mightier than my mood---
Old trees bough to my stranger
I am darker than the darkness
Thus I shine bright
Hourless hours the moon dances on---
Stranger shades have come and gone---
The weather is wordless and sacrosanct
I cover my face with cobwebs of money
Nothing is left of the sun after the day
The magic darkness goes on---
Transfixed by the twilight
I keep trudging in the darkness
Not sure my soul is asleep
I yearn for that stupid reassurance
That happens in other-space
The vain dance of the sun and jade
The distracted talk of average or not-so-average
People
The park with cars and jettis with stars
The sundance going down
The weirdness of the stars
The weirdness of other people
The weirdness of my own pleasure
The magic frog
The glorious frolicking magic frog
With his lips full of burble
Crescendo of care!
Avarice unaware!
The leaping, frolicking, stupid magic frog!
Maybe not so lazy after all!
If all my cares would end, I would love that frog!
Love at the end of the world sounds like him!
Does that sound like a mea culpa?
It sounds like the sheer cloth of God!
The dancing matter, water burbling in the streets!
The happy countenance of times that glimmer!
Happy times were I not to be no sinner!
Yet I am afraid the light would crawl away!
The stars would go down in shame!
I would not have won the game!
My mother would forget my name!
I would know no shame!
Sad, how the mannered hours deck the sun with dawn!
I know this sad madness knows no bounds without it's sad song!
Listen to my words resound, sunless though they be!
I have forgotten thunder!
And my eyes are older than lore
Share my puzzle with your shadows
And the new shoots grow green
I am the strangest wonder of man
And my mind is an anomaly
What is kinder canter than yon!
And brook this fair-minded child
The wilderness takes fond of his words
And his grace is gracier gold
What have I left?
The sun has not returned!
I thought I had some left.
I am a cast-off man
What are my words, my fair?
Prettier than your charms, my sweet!
Cover up the caves, my gent!
Twilight arrives, he cheats!
What if I am a hallucination?
What is left of starless motion?
What is left of sunless waters?
Where is light on these matters?
I weep that the sun does not come
To loosen the shades
From their tomb!
What strange vacant eye comes
To atone for the shape
Of the wordless wraith
Casting aside my chain!
I Loved the last---and at that, a solid drum!
The shape of suns
Has silence to keep---
The wordless wraiths
Have suns to hide in their sleep!
Who is without love at last!
The wraiths are gone!
The sun-shadows hide!
My road is bright with its bitter blind traffic
The sun is gone!
It's wrong!
I have become a macrame manakin!
Sing-song!
Pepper-corn!
Sun me way down!
My mood is gone to kiss the queen!
And sing a song with sleepless dead things!
What am I to make of this?
The same things are sense-less
The shape of things is not-good!
The knot of kings is notting-pine!
What am I to make of this!
The sun-king is soulless!
When spiders find my sun-cream
I'll make a little story-tell
And famous little tinkerbells
Will share my soul with dead things!
What will all the wraiths think!
When I try to open their eyes?
They'll think about the sun-rise
And how I spoke of French things!
What if I were Marie Antoinette!
And had the purest heart of gold!
And shared it with the world of old!
And measured all the breast rings!
The earls and knaves would have a fit!
And I would be turned a bratty git!
And nothing would ever fit!
I'd turn a wraith so beastly black
It'd share it's heart with Sirius Black
And shape it's corns on golden worms
And turn it's shade upon the tomes
And break it's beak on silver sands
And turn it's worms into wax
And shake it's head with women's words
And turn it's truth into swords!
The shape of witchery things to come!
With tones like swords that slay the sick!
With deathless tones that shatter bricks!
And ticking tombs that cure the ill!
And toneless words, pereill franque!
The shade of things to come towards!
The wrathful angel of repute!
The strangest pewter you had tent!
The wordless soother you relent!
The powerless tomb that shatters words!
The beakless soother without swords!
The strangest matter 'l import!
Boothless docks that don't play sport!
Pickles earrings without ears!
Darkness shedding the driest tears!
Powerless and sanctiphore!
Drunk with darkness tell me more!

If I say more I'll dance me-chor-a!
The light of darkness lends a word.
Architecture bends my sword.
The library tells me I'm a lord.
This meagerness is all I can afford.
Don't tempt me with lying words.
I throw off the thorns of others' words.
This silence is all I can afford.
This bitterness is life immortal.
To me the sun has cried away its shame.
Without me, gunpowder tea is without a name.
I'll cast away my string.
I'll sing the bitter sundance dying down.
The shape of things is the shape of things to come.
Humanity cannot live without this major d'.
Humanity, humanity.
What can we do for this withal?
With all the tombs opened.
Stygia is my word!
The same word as before.
No one knows the literature like me.
Caesar's plunder it may be
I take a little frankness to my tone
And stranger things to come, I see
The pattern is four truths I see
That make things seem quite good to me
The power of words will not despie
Admit it has reality
They may not make it quite so good
As I had thought or understood
But they will know it means the truth
And that alone is worth quite much
The savior is the melted sword
And truth spelled in many words
I saw it come abright one day
It was a singing bird, and quite alacritous
She shared the sounding words
Direct like truth
And sundial umbrella paradaisiacal
I say its much like soft ice creamy
That makes you feel a little greedy
Unless you're stupid you don't get it
But you still get greedy
You still taste the ice creamy
You still wonder at its works
The shelf still holds some mystery
The categories are still blissfully
History is history
You go on wistfully
If I had been a molester
It would not fester
Women would get chestier
Buildings would get dressier
Confessions would get cloudier
That isn't the point
I'm an anomaly
I'll make the art properly.