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RICHARD WILSON MOSS

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 2/10/2015 |




Extinction

Eventually we will take a long walk
Through the final day of a bankrupt circus
Where performers and performance disassemble.
Clowns removing false grins,
The fire eater rinsing his mouth out and spiting
Into the sink where the bearded lady is shaving.
Tent stakes pulled up with the aid of tired elephants
Rolls of red and blue tickets thrown away
Stainless steel stands folded and sold to local ball fields
And as all gather and grieve of the last show forever
Perhaps the last thing to come down
Is the church of false image
The hall of mirrors.


The Sermon

Hot and loud and glorious
Are thunderbolts of our morals
Our convictions the tired earthquake
Yet again arranging rock
On which we rant.
The sermon is the wind
Roaring in the ear of abandon
The sudden tick
Of that broken kitchen clock
Given to a child.


Waterfall

The waterfall is not the water
It is the form of its fall
As is all

[RICHARD WILSON MOSS]



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