A Failure in the Quarter of the Mind
By: David Bankson | Posted on: August 2018
A failure in the quarter of the mind
Turns dry to drenched; the loathsome rain
Pours through the scorching air.
A quarter in the city of the nerves
Turns light to night; rain on their moons
Darkens down the deathly snake.
A failure in the mouth dissuadeThe mind from kindness; and the tomb
Drives out the living as death creeps in.
A brightness in the quarter of the mouth
Is twice its night; the miled land
Starts at an angled sea.
The bark that makes a clearing of the land
Cuts twice itself; and two rise up,
Swift as the waking wood.
A quarter of the forest stone
Is dry or drenched; the slug and sloth
Move in half lives after the mouth.
A failure in the quarter of the heart
Turns life to life; all barren fields
Stand in their double haze.
A failure sucks the sun out of the moon,
Raise up the new blinds of the sun;
And the mind takes up its life.
David Bankson lives in Texas writing more garbage like this. He was finalist in the 2017 Concīs Pith of Prose and Poem, and his poetry and micro-fiction can be found in concis, (b)oink, Thank You for Swallowing, Artifact Nouveau, et al.