And as the sets reverse, to bring age to each step, 
Every sordid moment worse, lost is the night 
to its solemn shroud 
And as I were, softly sounding 
And as we were, humming, drowning 
To wonder if the afternoons are bearing weight 
as if they used to 
And as they do bring about our end 
To send us spiraling backwards 
Into the grip of a further day 
And seated on a wooden bench, chatting softly 
Seated on the end of a simple quay 
The roaring sunrise of a lonely day 
To see my valium waiting, asking, how shall I repay? 

There is no penance for the wicked
Only preservation 

And if there were reservation in a night’s walk
Would my perseverance strike the moon?
The continuum of autumn crops
Passing through the rear view, so the crickets croon
To high noon on the sky, the bear naked night
Parading with a silk bed sheet, teasing the earth
With its glare of white, so we learn 

And I will go into distorted dreams, the eyes of another two
And as if they were me and you
praying to see the sun arise
Out of the sand, singing vigorous hallelujahs
As the potently religious can do 

And as if the meeting could rebound, flounder
There is momentary ardour
In which there is no speech
And as if the sharpened mind grew simple
To the present accent of a dimple
I utter a silent shriek 

And have I, willing to do such, left myself behind?
Has the full moon rendered me weak?
Daring to pass a candle, is it I who is weak?
Shrouded, dancing through the pines
They, flouting lugubrious gowns
Toting the black fur of the stray cat
And the whimpers of the night, they do so abound!
And settle contentment into the lap
And pass the shadows to a further stare, painted blue
And twilight eyes painted black
With the fast arrival of the moon, so we stare, shudder
And prance into tears for one another 

And because the words have uttered so
Here the words stop, buried, and I go
And the master bedroom is fast asleep
And alone into the carriage, so I wait
And alone into the twilight, here I saunter
Alone, far, another world, bending into memory
Seeming familiar
Am I alone?
Or doomed to be apart?
Yet the moon shines, the shadows embellish the dark
And we have fainted to the mirror of the river,
Walked on heaven’s gate
Over the scarlet pass, the crashing ceiling
Over gothic america
Beneath the silent moon, raining
The alibi’s of antipas, crashing, feigning
Writhing in a pit of vacant lots, a cup of scotch, spring color?
Worthy of vile vitality, the silence of the lamb, brutally asunder
And speaking to a moon of gold
Wet grass of green
Speaking to the world below, above, accentuated by a passionate scream
I will pace back and forth between the walls!
Breaking leads as I do so!
Unable to turn over, brawl away the animosity
Draped in white pelts, and so bathing in splendor!
And is it such the simple glance, black lace, svelte legs, elegance, slender lies
Giving my spirit such a rise? 

The night fully abreast, gently rising so
Smiling down upon the planes
Here the rising clouds open their curtains, brushing their mane
And do not dare fall back to earth 

And the night is long, winding about, abruptly brought to end
Time humming softly in the ear, calling too
its melodious verse, a reprise of blue
And from the rising sun, the exotic mein of a tired two
Tapping to the dance of the street cars
And seeing to conquer, will I see to conquer?
Pressing to victory, odysseus’s return, a folktale of old
Losing shadows, pressing further, unto the bright morning fold
To be reborn on the morrow, I will be reborn unto the morrow!
Rebirth in swaddling sunshine, voided, entranced, sundered of sorrow
Making off scott free! 

And so lured back
The twilight asleep, so peacefully
By entranced eyes of hazel
Svelte silk of adolescent appraisal 

The night slipping from under foot, tarrying first light, making calls to the wild
And of course speeding past the requisites, far from an innocent child
Wrought from the nights course to be brought into a spacious place
An open field of fallow ground
Here I shall sit in a chair, drinking ale
and let the waste abound
And the lamplight fills the hollow place, I standing pale
Am settled into contentment 

And the hold of hazel broch
Can be be so dreadfully hard to shake
Break a term, make a move to freedom
Asleep and alive, frisking boredom
Flying to the night at its peak
And the darkness gives its solace 
And the tender night inherits the meek 

And ghastly pale as a lilac
The willingness to go undone, eyes thou hast forged
Taking a pill and searching for nothing!
And the brazen thrills alone
With others perhaps, the ashen throne
But not for one
For the hope of another
Dreadfully so
To possibly rake the sunshine
Or sand, or the ivory garden
Breaking free of thousand moons
Of verdant leaves, falling in autumn
Blooming in the spring
As is so for many things 

The neon abounds, let the neon abound
The spring hath taken my spirit
left me bare upon the ground
With the lashes of a thousand iris 

We have flown to each other from distant towers
As the mein of the court asserts its tone
The streetlights shower flaxen land
Mellow gold
And break apart the silence 
And being one, known as so pious
Far from a gentleman, yet somehow abounding
Passing far from human reach, rarely understood
Yet drinking to folded hands in the lap, simple chants
And you would?
After all that has ended, abounded, give madam a second dance?
And you would, rest to a battle cry, if only for the endless chance?


[Night View of the Grand Canal, Venice], ca. 1875, Carlo Naya (Italian)
Corbin Wamble

Corbin Wamble is a seventeen year old writer from northern Delaware.