Monday, December 21, 2009

poem || Jeff Harrison

The Spoils of Dreamless Sleep

some blood of winds at the source of the chasm where
the very GEIST falls, driven like lines
harnessing process as a sea of beaming ice
such process, with nature and birds,
becomes its own loud lone glare
"in another sound?" "no, no other sound"
just some unsculptured image the old taught her young ruin
a rushing restless gleam, chainless winds over the Earth and
many sounds wait, and to Earth lands lightning
unheard play of universal blanks, verse, syntax, & raves

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