The Beak of Ascends Blood-Red
The beak of ascends blood-red,
Are in the daydreams known;
Each color dissolved that bleed,
With wings they have again flown.
And all is over and falling straight,
From where we have been around;
We take clear-cutting strange fate,
Let each our reflection be found.
All language is the beginning seed,
That spreads the words on wings;
Each day songs are accompanied,
With what on the inside space sings.
And lines like the roots of languages,
Build houses that flower the mouth;
The minutes and the hours abolishes,
each watery thought and a drought.
Like the vegetation of all the green,
Drink of the night comes from deep;
Dreams in faraway corners between,
Are flowers in the oceans of our sleep.
Pulverized voices of street shadows,
Inspired whirlwinds and the echoes;
The moon in clouds steadily glows,
Weightless dust scattered and goes.
posted by Peter S. Quinn @ 8:27 PM
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