Give me a block
Give me a block of stone to carve my bubbles of air I
cannot lament what I am not imagination is to the tropics & birth by a chainsaw
swung about in a room will tend to make people see your point of view so maybe
I should continue writing in a forest shocking the birds & violating the sanctity
of the animals as man doeth even the concert hall is rooted in concrete whether
or not Mahler required absolute silence to build his pleasure dome enfolding
sunny spots of greenery all gated within caves of ice another game for the
chainsaw this poem is violent really because I don’t feel much alone I will
scatter my father’s ashes in a few days & I cannot feel lest I leak at sea.
Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.
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