Man Be Not

I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.
           Dylan Thomas

Man be not my metaphor,
Imprisoned in the twice-told skull.
One impulse crowned; one a blackened space in air.
Masked intents never quite revealed,
Undemocratic pleas fall silent and strikingly still;
A black shadow cruises beneath a swaying phosphorescence,
Blooming readily on the surface of human moods.
Witness to what cannot speak its name,
Clipped, armed, pulled up, wrapped around,
Facing the grand, inanimate stars.
Boundless dreams that do not address
The naked needs of human flesh,
Unaligned with visions of the spheres,
They swiftly circle corporeal fears.

© ross 2023
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Love this, the atmosphere, the images, I can lose myself in every line. Sue.

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