Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Oure Hour

Misspell pure. Ignore
Offered corrections.
The sun and the bees
Remain to conspire
Against outer space.

Their spaceship travels
Through interstellar
Clouds of time to bring
Dust so much older
Than these motes of song

Flaked off and falling
As words, broken bones,
And variable
Dreams slowly turning
Hour thoughts into gold,

That the eye of God,
Another mistake,
Can't tell whether
We're meant to measure
Meager time or hymn.

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