In

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In spite of you it still begins
washed up poor excuse
of a broken melody on trial
same discarded view

in pairs we let it grow
abandon faded leisure
for an instant filthy pleasure
a different point of view

in time it stands up tall
relishing the thoughts below
of overthrown mistaken virtue
beneath the distant dews

in woven masks on prairie nights
at eighteen in the crowd
forgetting need to be
underneath it all was you

 

by Nicholas Peart

Taken from the poetry collection In Arctic Measure (2004-7)

(All rights reserved)

 

Image: Nude In The Sun (1875) by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Loops of Drilled Cave Blood

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Sold upside fritter down-town
Hold him to blame
Don’t smash his capsicum brain
Like a motor blown to levels beyond fantasy
Small tests deviated from whole grounds
Gone and can’t be gotten
And know they pin the head of knowledge
Heavy foliage and hard alkaline pools
To drool and be baseless
Air and nothing
Spawned beyond space and time
No area
No clock
Only “is”
No words
Only pictures
Heads smashed
But the vision crisp
Floating in perfect rich equilibrium
That’ll be the day

 

 

Poem by Nicholas Peart

Image by DeviantArt

©All rights reserved