Midnight upon the fallen throne

Another one I am handing in toward my degree

and this is tranquility.

Cottonsmoke lightfalls break

upon lilac-stoked dirt patches.


Far from staring mechanisms,

from mute artifices,

velvet oaken mysteries whisper

silhouettes behind Ordovician veils;

still dew bejewels the root

beneath lichgates of fungus cast darks.


Far from symmetrical domiciles,

from cuboid fires,

violet Deer and mythical Badger alike

mal-remember straight-cut paths

to favour elegant fetid stenches,

and serendipitous chaos.


Far from blinking logic boxes,

from right angled portals:

Sprawls the gnarled fallen throne,

a dense silvery carcass

Olivesoot shades and sweet leaves

rotting before the nose; beyond the eyes.


Far from the linear parallels of asphalt,

from the scientific rigidity of life,

this is luxuriously pagan,


The End

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