Subconcious Birthday of Death

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
edited February 2006 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
My dreams talk to Gregory Corso
I venture with him,
hitchhiking on a highway of bombs
that spread across
the pages of america.
My conscience howls
and i murmur a soft regret
as i reach heaven and become
infused in the sticky syrup;
transforming and finally escaping
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
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