Poetry · R.M. Engelhardt · The New Verse Movement















Dear Life


Upon all the souls

Of all these poor saintly creatures & upon these very

Saintly apparitions of these very very

Saintly words of the very very dead gods you

Ask me to be a poet of this age and write

Something well,




When love is merely a mortal look,

Long since the days of the camera began


But I will hear you.

Let you be my compass and agree

With thy heart as teacher to know my full sensibilities

And nothing in my verse nor in my time and

Not even in my mind nor soul


Which has never been pierc’d

With heat


Or truth.


For not in me is eternity

But only this temporal

And brief moment in time.

Copy die: nor can hold it

Up to the candle, the masses

No longer here to mourn for humanity

Eternal and cold

Like a machine



Oh muse,

I burn thee

Beneath the heart

Beneath the sea


Of lies


And sleep

Until you awaken








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