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idNut

Diamond Member
in a daze of apathy
i see no end to it all
only the pleasure and love
so i careen from one pole to the next
to discover eternity in my midst
fighting is as futile as toil
death is my crave---
the escape from memory
to my house of nothing
 

Sylvia Plath -- Winter Trees


The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing.
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history.

Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietas?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.

 
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