In The Beggar’s Bowl

 

the gate is open

the wind sear

alogarithm’s dismembered

prepared, divided

among the hungry, weeping

refugees in the inner temple

waiting for the river to rise

to wash Thales into his own soup,

to listen to the electric scream

bathe in pathos, pathos, pathos

 

to Neeli, after the party

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 07/29/2009 12:16AM by petersz.

Another poem which proves relevant to the events in Haiti. Good job with this one, Peter.


Les