Polled Poetry: "Untitled"

[leondacter]

Throw down your plaintive fingers
Which wriggle upward, ever to cajole the gods;
You exist in the deep umbrage of the divine,
And no gesticulation is required,
But, more simply, one false move.
They find you, dilated, in their ireless eyes,
Scuttering about and screeching, animated dust,
A scurrilous insect, a pest, a pest’s parasite, a mote.
Post not the screeching letters that you scribble.
Choose a proper sword to swing
With your inelegant limbs and cluttered mind,
Toward whatsoever you may never find:
Cut your dreams out of the limpid sky
To cover you, a giant paper doll,
And smothered in your diaphanous dreams
Die of the same plain heat that drapes us all.
You live inside the unfailing dubiety of Baal.

Poll Polled Poetry: "Untitled"