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Gravestone
I wonder if they even make real profit
or these things just exist in epic proportions
for an off evil otherwise, in the garden.
Our hope for the soul and only the soul
seems the singular need in this world
and everything else in its mad maelstrom
whirls in a kind of crazy, feverish dance,
sedated in sorrow of ever sprouting so---
undying structures for what in the hell.
We've become a product of our own shrill
like not a clean slate of tomorrow brings
dissolution of all confusion, the gravestone.
Yes, the gravestone does have
Yes, the gravestone does have a finality for many people---and this has been part of human nature since the most ancient Egyptians constructed their elaborate and massive tombs. I have mentioned, in comments on your other poems, how your writing reminds me of the Symbolists' poems; and I think it is more than a mere coincidence that Mallarme himself wrote several poems about tombs (of Poe, Verlaine, Baudelaire, and---I think---one other I cannot quite remember).
Starward
Just A Thought
A manifestation of dead writers in spirituality
inherits eternity by means of other beings (me);
style and sequence surmising old, true scenes.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitues