Poets' Poison
Another breath
in this empty skin as
The Poet's dreaming
once again:
'Love is death...'
The Master said,
imbibing I-magine's
magick and
sinks …
one still, solemn,
soular drink
of the scribbler's sacred
solvent ink
revolving, resolving
absolving, dissolving
his hyperindensity
hemlock-heavy
handed, heartened
hallowed head.
poem by Randy Resh
Added by Poetry Lover
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