The Sonnet of Progress for a Man Without Rhythm

Lana Brown
In trickster's hands glide volts in pore from pore

And faster shift breeds amperes in his jest,

As out of palm from palm the current tore

Through copper lines, in dented flesh are drest.

Out the crown the sightless river threads

In measured flows and soft degrees of light,

Like tempest lightning snaps from head to heads:

Ephemeral genius blast forever bright.

Gazing leaden men grow glazing eye

In waves and shocks as holding hands grow bare,

And forceful games so early born soon die

While droves search metal coins for never there.

In aging wisdom masses ever look

As masses pine for what his strike has took.

Published by Lana Brown

A Montrealer who dreams of making it as a writer. I've been writing creatively since I learned how to spell, and I've been at work ever since. I love sentence fragments.  View profile

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