“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Monday, October 28, 2019
Forts
Broken down, the All
was noplace, collectively
rather-scattering
That there is no longer
meaning
there is no there there
no such thing as a moral hunter
there will never be
a thing
that is
wholly itself alone
and shatter-proof.
There was nothing to see
that would help us
recognize entanglement
as a knot to be undone.
Artwork by Salvador Rosa (1615-1673) in Public Domain.
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