Monday, April 09, 2012

W.B. Yates inspired poem

A journey to tackle other voices comes and falls on Yates.  This is closer but still overly wordy in the small works I look to remove from my own voice.  I want to add them only when I must, not bask in them like this.

I come to the taught words
The last ones of failed grace
The supposed languid season
saying well past their welcome
The Dried and brittle word
dissolving in it's own weight

Ignored resplendent climes
Only turmored souls note
Down in the welted heat
sticky and sickly sweat
Nevermore nighttime rain
perhaps when winter again

A draught never more wanted
than in prohibition fits
or this quaking waking dark

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