Like a lesion in the addressed heart
To tomorrow where the dark arts
Are not promised or timed by rivers
Out of the eyelets blessed by diving Gods
Seeing the improbable oceans collide under Jupiter.
This life clashes with rocks and undermines the highest cliff walker
Who would out abseil Oedipus for s difference in Rome
Of the land that would set England free.
What are these maps to thee, Atlas?
Did you carry the weight of paper on your shoulders?
The merriment of nymphs was a shadows glimpse
Of how leisure would lead to pleasure that hid Athens from my soul.
There was his goal – in the mediumship of his narrative:
Here is our mast – as the blatant opulence is repetitive.
To question the need for poverty is to write amongst me
Then the banking equation is not such a school invasion.
Collisions of the East find a feast of Middle Kingdoms
Where the land is owned by a man called planned
And John F. Keating Lennon’s land, is more fashionable
Than anything the horrors of 20^th Century war ever understand.