living at the end of time
on the furthest outcrop of history
pallid impersonal
subjective in the utmost
outpacing radical fissures
in melancholy avowal
penetrating the mystery of balance

we live in the space of a smile
a structure similar to quaking
at the height of grief
we live turbid tepid searing
in the dream of vacant hours
in the halls of mirth & mission

living at the edge of prescribed gain
with the flaws overrunning
the whirlwind in ribbons
a gale against a gale
impervious to underbecoming
we anoint a lesson in seepage
& turn judgement to loss
the grave transgression to a prayer...

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© 2003 Joseph Robertson
QUAKING AT GRIEF
JOSEPH ROBERTSON
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