Bones rapt, in sin and sinew,
Skin draped across, like satin,
Decorated with ink and scar tissue,
Pulled tight into hammer:
Weaponized, contained, poised.
Flying forth, a synchronised violence.
Connection, fusing tissues
Like atoms under heat and pressure,
Expanding the heat and the bruise
Across the nose and under the eye,
Staring in bloodshot shame,
A blame game to tame the lame,
Hobbling, like a cripple,
Limping to a whimper,
A simper to linger,
Edging into the unfettered
Dregs of vision,
Fading, failing and falling,
Cascading towards the ceremonious
Banquet, untouched and unsmashed,
To the last moments of sense,
Holding on to the whirling world,
Curling and unfurling,
Twisting down across the table,
Undecorated unceremoniously and
Under the dead weight
And uncontrolled rage.
Ezra Pound, American poet and critic, was born on this day in 1885.