January 2011
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oh alas that no scholar had seen fit to invent a word that would so perfectly illustrate her frame, that could impart how she moves, that could decode her silent smile, that would so properly define her soul, or that would, in any sense, describe her beyond the dumbfound speechless silence that follows in her wake
~certificatus alucinatorem~
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The haunting howls of the small hour freight trains
the whales of the western world, singing
a melancholy hymn for a time slipping into
their inevitable, epitaphed abeyance carrying
hopeless romantic daydreams shivering across my shoulders.
please, croon and moan and roar and sing and sing some more
-A.Gutzmer
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