Tuesday, December 25, 2012
My Years And Months
Never do rights of a man vanish from the prison,
Frowning with delight the mad men utter phrases
That try one to the bone, with a swift betrayal
And collapsed muscle, this very leg of lamb.
Not in this world will a man be fortunate,
In front of a maid or maiden, the opposites
Of the coin shall be one over
In the oven of our lies,
The very same lies that every root
And each virtue shuddered.
Let your rights be damaging the hits
And flaws of the damnation.
My blindness ought to seem unchecked,
Underneath the trees of the wintered months