This is what you get
When I write a poem backwards
beginning not yet
Maybe just begun
Maybe between the to do and the done
May be try to follow it
Why not
From out to inside
Perhaps too much the logic twists
exotic spellings and Mistrust
into the mix
Falling soft with stones and sticks
Breaking bones noone can fix
Broken phones and dirty tricks
Pheremones of ancient forums
Rubble walls forgotten means
Constructed with calendars
Mosaics and abacus beans
Measurements for heaven,
birdsong Still will simply be
birdsong as data but raking the sea
making statistics and doomsday clocks
measuring damage in fishstocks and
leave it better than we find it
sieze it search it stop it
but out there must the answer be
within the puzzle is
darker at each step wondering stumbling
and we haven't given up yet
each question raises solutions
what we're after must be questions
or not maybe. that's the worst
it's the not knowing
At first mysterious
Makes sense later
Our need to elucidate drives away shadows
Exposes the delicate tissue of time
Sampled tested and disrespected again
Digging and digging to what end
Defiling tombs in earth and sky
Astrological sightseers
Like antarctic researchers
Drowning in fumes from the layers we've burned
what have we learned
When the kernel we get to
we get to the kernel when
we have learned what |
layers we've burned drowning in fumes from the
antarctic researchers
Astrological sightseers, in sky and earth
Defiling the tombs to what end
Digging and digging and disrespecting again
Sampled tested tissue of time
Exposes the delicate shadows
Our need to drive away elucidates
later Makes sense
mysterious at first
it's the not knowing that's the worst
or maybe not.
it must be questions that we're after
each solution raises questions
and we haven't given up yet
wondering stumbling darker at each step
the puzzle is within
but the answer must be out there
stop it search it, sieze it
find it better than we leave it
measuring damage in fishstocks and doomsday clocks
making statistics and raking the sea
but birdsong as data
Still will simply birdsong be
Measurements for heaven, abacus beans
Mosaics and calendars
Constructed with forgotten means
Rubble walls of ancient forums
Pheremones and dirty tricks
Broken phones noone can fix
Breaking bones with stones and sticks
Falling soft into the mix with
Mistrust and exotic spellings
Perhaps the logic twists too much
From inside to out
Why not try to follow it
May be between the four and the one
Maybe just begun
Maybe not beginning yet
cause when I write a poem backwards
This is what you get |
