Style That Be Not Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

A style that be not style
Experiment that be not
Experiment.
We here are on the margins
Of the seas from the mind giddying
Cliffs.
A small lake of sweet water, tiny
The rest spumes, salty, and with
Burning lips on wintry nights;
The wraiths discover and
The rocks a sump immense
Sound and re-sound.

I
Here
Am
Bound
Without
Being
Bound
There
Are
No
Ropes
Whatever
I
Hear
The siren-songs
And
Fall
Below
Their
potent
Spell.

A style that be not style
Experiment that be not
Experiment.
We here are on the margins
Of the seas from the mind giddying
Cliffs.
A small lake of sweet water, tiny
The rest spumes, salty, and with
Burning lips on wintry nights;
The wraiths discover and
The rocks a sump immense
Sound and re-sound.