Thursday, October 16, 2008

The Poet Tyrant

I am the art.
I am rime.

Whosoever, with unworthy words, shall insult the dumb stone,
and their hired engravers too, and those who made the insults
to be engraved, and all who can read the wounded stone
without a loosening in the bowels --for this sin is a contagion,
a stain that won't wash clean, that passes from eye to mouth to ear
and envermins every true use of rime, in study or in ceremony,
of whom the worm infects-- shall be put to death.

Or let them be confined for life, or until they can be
made to feel the weight of their crime
against rime.

Or let their confinement be one lifetime
for each "butterfly,"
each "everlasting."

But death, only death
for "Love."

1 comment:

Red Eyes said...

Hi, my first time here. Just an introduction! I would like to stop by again if you feel a counter visit will be worth our individual busy schedules. I find your blog interesting...and please accept my compliments and this invite.
R.E.