18.4.10

THE BOOK OF THREE RINGS POEM 1-'PERMANENTLY STRANGE'

PERMANENTLY STRANGE




Tales from a frozen foreign land

labyrinthine tourmaline-dreams

of black horses flowing out to sea



told in a strangely twisting tongue

that chords can barely bend to chant

the rime and rhythm in the line.



How fools found gold in streams that curled

and mazed round roots by boggy banks

What are you? Why are you here?



His-story hisses out of flatulent balloons.

and fools all fall about the place

while others look round for helpful signs.



It wasn’t that they didn’t.

It might be that they’ll never.

It might be that it’s permanently strange.

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