Cymbals clang, old church bells ring

bi-century, electric lamps, phosphorescent light.

I wrung in thrusts this decade, decadent–

decadent panic in sight

A cascade cannot welcome or suck in violent

mindful delights          Listen!

the clang of bells.

A muddle of ten, this decade, that last

one poet’s decadent fight.

Vibrations plunging, despicable foresights

A near resonance turning

blowing           blown          



measure the medium, find

each annum counting, there’s

a decade in this tree–a hole life!


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