Monday, March 2, 2009

Tired God

#38 Proteus

Hello rhythm stride
Your sounds are made by mallet
Eternity hears you, now open your eyes
To the number of gods first of whom was
That bald, blind, diaphanous Maestro
That dark boot and sword
Swung against the sand
As if jesus were a cliff
From which birth entwines itself.

It is Day’s end and the midwife
Makes her way to Sandymount.

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