When A Savage Sings
M
Mark Heathcote
0
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Poetry is in the heart of misery
because when a savage sings
she hears deaths alluring wings
subdividing the savagery
in all but immortal things.
As savagery procures a song
of bread and wine
of milk-dew webs of time
what matter her music's throng
her idle songs rhyme.
What matter the molten breath,
her first uttered words of death,
what matter those alluring wings
of earthly abject things
if a god in heaven sings.
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