Friday, May 27, 2011

Tango de la Materia, No. 7

Dangerously close to epitome

The butterflies doth flock

In abundant anticipation

(Consistent delicacies/consistently delicate)

A true artist doth make

Something out of nothing

Pure objectivity by sole subject

Plays God in absolute

And imposes the choice for respect

Upon the audience

A haughty arrogance held in touch

With the soul

Hath come dangerously close

To admittance

Just prior locking up

Realizing the ground once common

Is swimming now

(Entropic/in tropics)

Hath (restored/compelled) a raging bones’

Life into the (marrow/fire)

Will always be alone in lust or love

Raison d’ĂȘtre

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