Author’s Note: Please notice that though the words “one astray” after line seven appear to be a separate line, they are not. This is due to the format limitations of WordPress. Same thing with “grey.”
Praise be to Hopkins
I woke to the billowing battle-breeze, booming brontide
Drawn from dreams decoded, and slipping serpentine
Through thick wardrobes and war-chests: uncouth, unclean,
But wordlessly welcome still; arms wanting, whooshing wide,
The air always adroitly arcadian, and yet bro-
ken into baleful bright-bursts, that hamper hypermnesia and lead one astray.
Now upon the tantalizing terrace: truth! in the grumbling, grainy grey
Lethal lightning lashes down and sizzles skin to silence.
Drip drop, drip drop, drip drop, drip drop, drip drop.
Until a heartbeat hums again, wimpling weakly
Under the fried flesh–a crusty casket STOP.
Now the morning meets the mire, and daylight drenches the deathly
To forgotten places and spaces–known now as a nonstop
Novel open to only Them: brontide infinity.
View Imagination 