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this poem, from a man
his nose shattered,
splay against a
bludgeoned sneer,
“... sometimes,”
he sighed,
resigned and
eclipsed by a
doleful, bloodied
wheeze.
“because i wish that i could
fall,
just once,
like a drop of rain,
or a son of God ...”
l'oratge
and led me down
that beach,
to that
occlusion
of sandy bough
and Scorpio's
ashen prow,
the memory
of a breeze
clad in
dingy thunderhead,
tacking into swarms
of static,
sired from
molten dusk and
the stammering buffet
of right-brain
against surf...
...how it smeared across
pebble, and feather,
and sleeve,
...how it billowed
through dissonant clouds,
...how it eclipsed, ashore,
in tatters and
minor keys
...how the ancient
troubadour
might have sung,
“Tu ets la tempestat meua,
Però
ton amor és l'oratge meu”
***
I am an aspiring amatuer poet, which you have probably already surmised, who has no credentials (which you may or may not have realized ... or cared about). I live in Miami, Florida, (until further notice still part of the) USA, where I work as a computer programmer.
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