Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

Yet The Stones Plunge

It seems the jars
of earth
are cracked.

It seems the parts
must drift.

It seems that this
the Silent lack —
the will to will
a fall apart.

Oxidize

It seems
the seams
must fall
in parts
and drift
to earth
to rest
apart.
The posts
will rise,
the stone
will crack.
Fondness
will plunge
in silence.

A Folded Hat

With this, a clasp,
(‘neath obscene stacks)
the facts are trapped.
And, as preempted
hands are kempt,
the past all see —
and, hating, need.

Preempt

Hands are trapped
between the clacking.
Brackets seen,
obscene he’s stacking
facts and round
the present wrapped
a fold with this,
the past with that.
And, as to all they’d
yet to see,
an asp to slake
the pupil’s need.