lapse the third: a hallway

enter but enter only

outside the days, the sun, the sea

lapsing

outside the clever lea shaking
in fear as the clouds take notice
and measure the angry jaws of this upturned
abyss.

for even as the years may pity

they steady

and hurl abandon in an awkward mess

and steady still a song like an aeolien harp

marking its return to chorus
and whispers of
"undo this, undo only
this".

you are either too clever
or too vague and i too unsure
to wish the plague on more
than a few royalty types
and they too busy to know
that we too once fell on the same
pillows as children.

holy old fuck!
that was the moon!
that was the a joy sweeter
than rememberance!
that was Proust without
the sentence! that was
Burroughs entertaining guests!
and Baudelaire shreading
the fibres of either hash or pestilence!
that was the gentle nudge of annihalation
inside the way voices promise
the end of time.