Colloquy with this post.
They know something we don’t know,
the singing coffins beneath the streets,
the walls pulled down for paving stones,
the skull of unexpected smallness.Vox populi or vox humana
get busted up like broken tiles
or start that way, as murmurs, rumours,
the truths so easily taken back.
DandyID
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Posterous
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
I like this poem – inparticular the line “The singing coffins beneath the streets” reminded me somehow of something by Tennyson (“In Memoriam” which I have never quite read right through) and also something by or the rythym of Yeats.
Regards, Richard
It’s not like those writers though – it is quite unique. Al lines are good and it “unites well” or coheres or whatever…haunting.