Blast

We of the deep night and blue sky

We of the dense dark and red sin

We of the high steeples and stifling spaces

We of the shining victories and fierce routs

We of the grey rains and white melancholy

We of the roaming species bred by the pirates

We of the long drinking and crannied laughs

We who travel windless, veering around

Craving for the missing stanza in the blurry quatrain

We dived in history and slapped in the present

We by the slow gait in the rushed time

We of the rough evenings and moony bashes

We of the lost discretion and crimson songs

We of the cobalt frock and abandoned stone

We of the dancing swan and dead leaves

We of the licentious scene and dried tongue

We on the wild tide that sweeps the mound

Hunting for the wolf unfeeling of the lurk

We of the reckless soul and bitter sound

We by the open ears and extended sight

We at the unfolded corner by the boozy crescent

We with no order still wandering unforgiven

Fighting the minced will in the hazy formless blast

We cursed and beautiful

Scorning the bourgeois flags and the vilest drives

Go on with no shame

%d bloggers like this: