Sweet resignation, And all that needed to be said Funneled into my chest With a touch of liquid resentment. Joy calls out beyond the edifice Of vain thoughts. Weltschmerz is a boiling stream that Runs through the swarthy Steppes of frozen sky.
Name one reason to Sing the tunes of rats and Transform them into fairies, And I will give you my words, Followed by my darkened vision. Losing earth is a lot like Making love unbalanced, Jolts of fire and recompense Interspersed with naked heavings Quickly sated without cause or method.
Abduct my memories And carve them into sprightly wings. Before I take flight, Dedicate my listless heart to The city’s edge, Where some yearnings failed to sprout, And others continue to grow. Remember the dusty pathway to the Only open window to the House on moonlit creek.
Art: “Sunset, West Twenty-Third Street” John French Sloan