Percy Shelly’s Heart, a Gothic Poem by Mick Albright, 2017

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Only when the magic
Leaves us—
Wide-eyed and withered,
Shells of nothing new,
Down-blown and resting
In a cornfield,
Do we comprehend
Harvest. Only when
The clay is drying,
Like the charcoal husk
Of Shelley’s heart,
Wrapped in paper,
In Mary’s desk drawer. Closer,
She croons, whose
Rosèd-lips can
Conjure moons.
Repurposed, soon—

Like Wagner’s “Sticks”,
Angles and twine,
And turning a Foucault line
In crisp autumn wind—
Telling stories from a
Branch; watching all those
Dropping things, dance,
Lamenting red
Or golding;
Blood-orange;
Umber;
Like a scolding;
Coursing, still, with veins;
They speak thinner words;
Thread-bare summer coat;
Spider-web quivering
Where sleeves used to be.
A spectral face.
A nettled bit of widow
Lace, moans like a haunting;
Clinging to a gouged and
Rotting gourd.

– (c)2017 by Mick Albright

(Art: Pinterest. Artist not known)

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One response to “Percy Shelly’s Heart, a Gothic Poem by Mick Albright, 2017

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