The Last New Poets
We are the body heat
of an endangered species,
the shattered hammer and forge
of an archaic workshop.
Gone are the rhymes and chimes,
gone all reason to be,
gone the prophet, saint or devil,
now we drive
to the far side of a town,
one we have never visited,
just to scratch upon a nameless wall.
Words confound us,
spellbound we tinker
with the Daedalian keys,
sprockets and gears
of an incalculable machine,
not seeking answers,
nor questioning why,
but only how.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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