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Melodies XLIX; The Tenant Of Mortifex Manor
He is the ghostly form of his own need.
The jealousy in which he loves to abide---
the emotional resentment and greed---
becomes his soul's slow and slovenly suicide.
His estimate of himself is a pretension---
it is, paradoxically, his sole dimension;
his more that he thinks much is really less.
He thinks he strides through profound experience---
but it is imaginary and, truly, rather shallow.
But, still, a devoted audience
hover around him, day and night, to follow---
to flit, like moths, around everything he has said:
the derivative voices in his head.
Alone, they accompany him, alone, on his course
through Mortifex Manor's emptiness---
its haunted rooms and shadowed corridors.
Starward
Catallus, whose great poetry
Catallus, whose great poetry I just extremely enjoyed because you gave the name, would surely applaud your poem too; and even perhaps be living through you.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitues
Well, thank you, Sir. I
Well, thank you, Sir. I really appreciate your kind compliment.
Starward