Monday, 16 December 2019

con.jure



the ghosts of poets

arise from the marshes they
trudge to their post

abandoned cabins moored to the foggy
coast

portraits peel off
the walls. unread books crestfallen
to the bare floor

how much life was lost

here? to honor the word

may i conjure you now
at your most glorious
to speak?

to help fight this

useless feeling

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