before arm, bar or bowl

the morning star surprises
then the pensive questioner arises
    and in all his many guises
  mumbles and then demoralizes
tumbling forth to block the way
swallowing the lightness of the day

haystack after haystack transforms,
      deforms
  from claude to salvador
needle melting into nail piercing the door
hammer still heard, hammer still heard, hammer still heard
the years passing into byword

yet, my words
        hang,
      frozen,
leaping not from thought or draught,
    letters stilled and ashen,
vigor stollen before arm, bar or bowl
and all’s abash’n
      fall’n

— © rlbusséll 2017

arm, bar or bowl

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