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.


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


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.