Encolpion xviii.


The postilion and his tigers disappear to a tone.
The Hail, that takes no pair, turns over His cup.
The city tread brings me back to still roll up
the Last Night wandeldekoration.

I will never have an honest foundation
connected to the value that life is
instead crumbing together the shock of depravities.
To cherish is a moral ambition.

Sometimes broke from dreaming, the bookmark is dead,
the Constable tale embarks to a far, forbidding place
where there’s no illumination & no one to keep the peace

the wonders read away, a fleeting populace,
it is there to the Herald of the Van of Little Beasts
my Heart lay down and virtue bring my head.
 

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                           © Habley Mouse, a Private Press, 2011.  All rights reserved.  (Poetry by William Frank)
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