Yet Still the Mind Would Tease


Distinct cannot describe
The layout stretching on,
Stone gods foul drink imbibe
And ghosts traverse the lawn.
The patterns flee the brain
A mass thought emigration;
It struggles to explain
Stark images’ location.
Horizon rises near
Yet ceiling vaults away,
Brushed outstretched arm makes clear
Humanity’s foray;
The urge to blink is great,
To kill the eyes’ new guest,
Shut black, swing wide the gate:
Frail logic takes a rest
‘Til metronome of loam
Stirs, shakes awake, sends home.

My vertical repose,
Harpoon of silver sight
For but a moment froze,
Yet now is cast alight.
A puff of air decides
Hyperionic blade,
Like pleasure brain divides
And grin is apt to trade,
Forsaking what was seen
For human knowledge more,
And so we bawd the dream,
Turn happiness to whore.

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Because Russ L asked

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