N is for Nonsense Poem
A fractal poem with a point, but not a point. Comprenez vous?
But I knew it would end up like this
But I knew it
I knew that it would end
Imagining white face, mouth wide, back arched
I no longer wish to wish such things
(Why might the blind man cover up his ears?)
Why should I covet cowardice?
I do not miss that climbing cloud.
I do not hope to hope these things
I’m really only honest in my poetry
But I don’t write much anymore.
Three tinkling words tumble
Grow gasping gone, go!
How long I hoped to hear.
I do not hope to end this end
November was the month in
Panties coloured as Eve’s kiss
And mother’s bustier
Breath billows on the burning
Caught up in the meaning of means and
Ending ends, endearing incendiary
enceinte enclosed
All sealed with a kiss
And a tear
Alone.
I do not end to start these things
Small lost body swishes sexy
Soft cold feet, no socks
Open door, it’s winter out
Hot blush, lurid gaze
I do not hope to start these things
I do not hope to know
I do not wish to show these things
I do not wish to go
Illa est forma mei
Posses futare me
Petesve discedere?
Vita longissima est
Et verum, vitia graciosa est.