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Glens of No Age pt. I: The Obscure
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Extended Poetry Pt. I: The Obscure
Wither me, wither all
I stumbled on a withered fall
My earmuffs sip up the cold
From my ears like tea
Leaving them in drafty heat
Makes them shiver out a song
I march down into snow
Walls that grow round an hour or so
As I'm soked in sour onion tears
That rotted on the onion brow
Searching for the deep glens
Of no time and no age
No audience and no stage
Performing to be observed
Observing the performance
The grocer's life repeats on
One more one more
A dead redundant face
Stands and demands change
Never I disappoint
Oh, the glens are deep
And hard to ever see from where I stand
So I'll work my withered hands
Down to the valley of my palms
I give way too much
And starve my needy hands
That must recieve what all hands needs
Another of its race and kind
To say hello, to shake goodbye
I'm just so lonely
Wrinkled and overworked
No one for me
In the valley of the deep and obscured
