Falcon Falls

September 3, 2019

Fall you will, but rise you must.

        —James Joyce

The falcons form as a circle, as a gift
Equal to what the gray, gay glasses beckoned to:
The empty stretches of the empty lots, clue
To the damage done by poetry left to drift,

As it scatted in resplendent high spec gloss,
His desk, more moan than groan, was sewn
And gathered into the artifice of eternity—as if a poem
The sun was in, could no longer be a source

For truth. It doesn’t matter, man, the good
Phoebus is the moonlight too, and among
the forms it forms nothing that it couldn’t outgun
Or out-glow where it was.
Nothing could.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: