poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

these things that we support most well 
have nothing to do with up, 
and we do with them 
out of boredom or fear or money 
or cracked intelligence; 
our circle and our candle of light 
being small, 
so small we cannot bear it, 
we heave out with Idea 
and lose the Center: 
all wax without the wick, 
and we see names that once meant 
wisdom, 
like signs into ghost towns, 
and only the graves are real.


Anonymous submission.

Added: 16 Feb 2003 | Last Read: 27 May 2012 9:21 AM | Viewed: 9546 times

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