Growl in hunger lines where music pierces softly
and where Icarian troubadours are their own sirens
Drowning themselves in romantic ends strangely
that stab and stare in the dark, in a dark age
that somehow know where its soul must land
The insanity of imagining it all! & all day the cells
Bristle, mortality shrugs and whistles, emptying
this life of real joy, till a push comes upon me
and I feel the body in revolt or surrender fall in torpor
reaching some soft sky of lost interludes born again
through me, today’s imprimatur.

And after tomorrow life leaping –
songs never to be played again yet echo,
and promise more of this, offspring of this endless life,
yearning life through notes I’ve cried, constructing these
Auroras of Orpheus in golden lands I scale & question,
But who would eat these bitter breads, or drink from
Poisoned wells? Not I, so instead I erect these steles
& wait in hunger lines where music pierces mosaic hells,
and consecrate this private heaven’s new ground
The novel tales and new consciousness to tell.

Published by Chris Robideaux

I currently live in Scottsdale, AZ, and enjoy bicycling, wine tasting, poetic and historical research, and meeting other artistic/intellectual types. I am a freelance writer, wine salesman, guitarist, world traveler, cat/animal lover, and listener to the Cosmos.

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