the scent of no sea salt in the poem about the sea
how post modern poetry seems to me,
the dust rolls up to cover the sun
there are no kingdoms.
no possibility of one.
no names except of
populations.
only political designations.
no cri de coeur.
well what is this then.
music is more than sight reading.
this is no reading at all.
nothing registered.
like a civil wedding in a totalitarian country
the whole of it.
you can pretend to like it if you want to.
its a burial without honors to me.
without honour.
not even in the dictionary.
forget the lilies and the hands clasping them
the maiden looking out to sea and faltering.
but oh there's room for data.
for the wisp of a word digital.
digits. and the paramecium.
counting on one finger.
repeating the middle C. C sharp maybe.
going without a coat
all ice age winter long.
the murder of song.
the absence of swans.
And God.
mary angela douglas 1 february 2020
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