Bamboo lengths of nail, which flee to harrow
Nothingness, which sneers at self-neglects
The hair that stretches scalps, with tearing gall,
And burns a gash into the crackless gale.
Its ridden waves, which make their rippling cure,
It’s not the sun that makes the day turn dark,
It’s not that darkness in the roaming night.
The ugly see the listless lines of beauty,
The boring beauties hear alone the laughs.
If we could tilt the turning of the Earth,
To cause the trembling; there within its quiver
Weight of waterfalls would make them dust.
Flesh that melts from maggots at the marrow
Sensing the November air infects
To flow thereafter like a waterfall.
At its base is sent a crashing fail
To wrinkle what had once been sheer and pure
And siphon air to stars within the spark,
Which silences the birdsong and the right
The clowns abound for – some far stricter duty.
As soldiers want their ugly epitaphs,
We’d stop a breeding of the cancer-mirth;
Shoot blue bones into an Earthly shiver,
But the wintry waves of night have held thier gust.
Sean Godley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-bones/
