and sound travels
farther, I can hear
the swift but distant tolling
of church bells—right on the tick
of the hour. And,
for a sepulchral moment,
I can’t remember
which unfulfilled promise
I’m still holding out for:
a calmly determined
clockwork universe—or
swarms of crotchless
six-winged seraphim
praising god’s capricious love
of wrongness to the rafters.
of church bells—right on the tick
of the hour. And,
for a sepulchral moment,
I can’t remember
which unfulfilled promise
I’m still holding out for:
a calmly determined
clockwork universe—or
swarms of crotchless
six-winged seraphim
praising god’s capricious love
of wrongness to the rafters.