Silent Sleeve






The eyes of Emerson
Brought by wrecked rabid denizen
The plight of Thoreau
Singed for the spineless spite of the borough





An eternal ebb and weave
Sights of a silent sleeve
All a leap of faith, not fairy dust

Never settled for a hollow husk
But the smell of sweet musk
Turning may be’s to must

Its patient, everlasting perseverance
A musical matrix in motion
A humble hum of consenting conscious
Too sublime to scarred sighs
And eyes on the ends of deaf ears

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