Lost Poet - Lost Poetry

So... thinking back to one of the original intentions behind this blog, I thought I'd post some extremely old attempts at poetic composition. Mind you, I'm really looking for a little pat on the shoulder as if to say, "you know, you're right, you really almost could have written stuff." So, we'll go way back on this one (well, it's actually hard not to go way back, because I haven't really written in years).

In Decline

Your cough ruptures a fragile silence
Choking on the dry winter air.

Grandfather clock in the corner of an acutely angular room
I count the seconds to your final lunge at insight
And choke on the thin, withered intellect of a failing century.

The world stops spinning here;
Ruins of its brilliance balance
Crumbling on your hesitation.

Can not penetrate my consciousness:

We collide inside my mind
My murky depths recede to your shallow earth substance
Decaying oak leaves in February frost.

Diving in the abstract compound of stream-ice viscosity
Submerged beneath the weight of your lack of words.

A gong of the clock divides us
In the harsh geometry of the room
And it collapses
Renders you impotent
Leaves you obliterated by your fear.



And, for the record, I'm not really sure what exactly I meant by "diving in the abstract compound of stream-ice viscosity." I just know that at the time I really, really meant that, but now it comes off as a bit of really pretentious, overblown vocabulary.