Angel of Erosion

Grows pale the dulcet gizmo
Makes sad lament as world grays
with snow no 3-D specs could deepen.
The hover be washed away, this say.
Anyone would rather a swan than
a spirochete, party favor of smoke
than wing in dust. To be taken. Up.
Well-met struggle. Well-met rust.
High little riptides, there there
grinding mechanism-thrust of dream.
Here's a sandwich of ham and cheese,
cavorts the silly with the dire, mixes
mirth with dirge, assisted heart
throbs a while longer, the trees ease
in leaflessness as the earth dizzies
through breathless giant air.
Darling daring, everywhere is flames
gone up, rain come down. Maybe
you're the wounded clown, maybe
the anointed one with the awful message
everyone laughs at at first.

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Copyright © 2011 Dean Young All rights reserved
from Bateau
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission