Circle Takes the Square Crowquill Letras:
Nothing's so lucid as the promise of dreams, but
these pills we found just make me sleep. There's
nothing quite so pure as the written word my dear,
so lets have ourselves a little poem. Until the
will to speak loses urgency. Our animal indecency
in print is so blase. Its about the bell tower, at
the golden hour. Angel of the spires climbs here
steel cage staircase spine, angle of desire.
Ascend the wrought iron, one by one, wrung by
wrung. Is it the rising roof line that makes me
feel so swallowed whole, or the way my body barely
pricks the sky, the same as a century's worth of
virgin's blood that's passed through my longing
veins, scheming to convince my aching mind that
pleasure's got nothing on the miracle of need.
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Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you
can't see the ground from that ledge and this
perch is so far, far from the nest. Gravity
doesn't grant me the privilege of failure my bough
never breaks I don't stumble into anything so I
climb and I carve my initials in the bark with
that feather I found but its all so contrived. My
genes didn't bless me with the foresight of a sage
but I know how this will end, in apologies and ink
on the page. A slowly constructed crow quilled
confession of my spirit to all of you, black
waterproof ink scars the board, so hot-pressed,
pristine and pure. A slowly constructed
manifestation of "to tremble", as base
as a bridge in a song and less like the poem that
I promised you. Nothing's so lurid as haiku-detat
on sidewalks in white outlined chalk, all I've got
is this ink smeared lines. With our voices in
harmony, the offering, of a crow quilled threnody.
Letras: Crowquill Circle Takes the Square [final]