O speakest I the eye of storms
Such storms of leaves and ink
Beneath the trickles, veins, and blood
There sleeps a lurid drink
Thou frantic branches, brittle bones
Which thirsts and grasps at things unknown
For proof that you stand not alone
And flee the swelling swarm
O weakest I the eye of storms
Such storms of light and dark
Within the numbers, codes, anon
There rests an empty lark
Thou tapping mazes, sour praise
Still wishing for those paper days
Not saving windows from the haze
And swell the fleeting swarm
O bleakest I the eye of storms
Such storms of breath and flesh
Without the mirror, shift, or sound
The I's cannot refresh
Thou vacuous occupancy
Thou feathers plummet to the sea
O sink and perish with no plea
And kill the I of storms
YOU ARE READING
Poems I Almost Burned (Along with My Sanity)
PoetryWhat starts with a sandbox and ends with an epigraph? My first collection of poems.
