I said in my small room and the wind heard
and became a gale
and the clouds heard and threw down all their colours at once
in their nursery petulance and wept
and I was in cathedral lights clean swept
from the great heights shimmering and broken on the ground
why have you forsaken the beautiful
and shuttled the heroic away in the post postmodern day
I want to play the mazurkas but you give us barely modeling clay
and want us to make something vaguely statistical out of it
Zeitgeist of this dispirited Age
and true dancing is banished now. oh. anyway!
it's my imagination pounding on the door
that once was pearl
and now is grey.
mary angela douglas 27 july 2021
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