Litkicks Message Board Archive

Breather (Cairn poem # 6 : Li Po in Wales)

Posted to Poetry




Dark tea
On white
Page. Roughly

Angels equal
Air. I'm so
Tired

Of shaping
This tangle
Of leaves

So I drown them
Until the water's
Dark, dip my

Brush, and reveal.

*

Light warms and then there's fog.
No ugly stones, the money
Of conservative sin is
The thick idea of heritage
Divided by the suicide

Of religion, is the end
Of heavy symptom, is here

The earth, top heavy

Bottom heavy with treasure
And alteration, the kiss
Less deep love wants
Towers for the wailing
Nimbus of vespers raised

Like eyebrows

In the spectrum of fair plays' fair

Morning cloud.