begin

On far reached shores
whose night has led a thousand different lives
though their differences lie in shades and smears
I bring a small fable
a new old tale
upon whose evening soul its laboured hauling ghost
devours misshapen hues and the revelations of what has been
but art through its accomplishment to the finish brings
the polished tides of peoples past
and in the waters heat the vapour rises
like dim mist thrown across the darkling moor
in whose thin terrace the midnight sun
comes and never goes to stopping
amid the venerable and the damned
slipping past the egos and the frailties
so sure not to break the glazed glass of beings
seeing through the many spectacles of time before
though at the eyes end
at each times end
uneath the stone plaques whose ganglion adorn the plains
beneath whose hallowed crust the maggots twist
the worm will play
the moth will form
and one bright night
come croaking frogs
to distant beach heads
to party in the gloom
in all their green glory
and fancy themselves in trumpets and in armour
and armed with valour
and loved so loved
by the gourmets of the word
let them hear our song
let them feel our fire
as heroes spring a drenched with weed
arraignment from the ponds
of discourse handed down through aeon's
each tiny tongue and puffing cheek
will make the deaf earth shake
will make the deaf earth shake