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
measure the medium, find
each annum counting, there’s
a decade in this tree–a hole life!