Ice cathedrals rise to disappear in air; A cold-halo hugs the moon with light And radiates all through the star-shot night, A God-eye x-ray of my swooning spirit 5 Thrown large against the winter's distance. The cold tongue chips from the mouth of Baudelaire, Stark grey and somnolent on his nude tomb And pitted as a rotting virgin's womb. Oh song of Baudelaire! strike through 10 Death's blight, and light's: ring, rise and yet renew The eviscerating dark that here unscrews Melting eyes from intoxicated sockets. How should poets love the night and yet refuse To saunter the sun's mercuric center and unlock it? 15 Daniel J Weeks, Gregg Glory
From the collection "Adoring Thorns"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.