Sonority
In the nascence of one’s polonaise,
Always an unknown tune invades, unseen, unfelt:
The sonority of a somber night-sonata,
Inside a cold, dark tomb.
Aleatory existence led by revolting wheels,
Propinquity of flesh becomes insuperable;
The horologist can’t cease the ticking.
The tour de force of infinity--
I wonder why it couldn’t be a holding, exoteric.
-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)
Copyright © Pin Dew | Year Posted 2017
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