Bamboo lengths of nail, which flee to harrow <br />Nothingness, which sneers at self-neglects <br />The hair that stretches scalps, with tearing gall, <br />And burns a gash into the crackless gale. <br />Its ridden waves, which make their rippling cure, <br />It’s not the sun that makes the day turn dark, <br />It’s not that darkness in the roaming night. <br />The ugly see the listless lines of beauty, <br />The boring beauties hear alone the laughs. <br />If we could tilt the turning of the Earth, <br />To cause the trembling; there within its quiver <br />Weight of waterfalls would make them dust. <br /> <br />Flesh that melts from maggots at the marrow <br />Sensing the November air infects <br />To flow thereafter like a waterfall. <br />At its base is sent a crashing fail <br />To wrinkle what had once been sheer and pure <br />And siphon air to stars within the spark, <br />Which silences the birdsong and the right <br />The clowns abound for – some far stricter duty. <br />As soldiers want their ugly epitaphs, <br />We’d stop a breeding of the cancer-mirth; <br />Shoot blue bones into an Earthly shiver, <br />But the wintry waves of night have held thier gust.<br /><br />Sean Godley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-bones/
