Friday, July 27, 2018

The Title Says It All

And then the poem tries to take
It all back again.
Not quite over yet.

Our culture’s better than us.
Any wise alien would
Prefer our compositions
To our composers.

The musicians conjuring
The spheres are ordinary
As trash collectors,
But their songs created gods.

Those were just his naked thoughts,
Barer than conversation,
Spoken aloud in the wind.

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