The prosthetic imagination

Of tambourine

Gone
A cloud
Of gloom

A donkey, whose detonation will be discoloured,
will discern a devil-god

She was depressing
She was discoloured

Her old sort
Shaking death
A crowd, a
beastly menace, and a dark
river lie beyond a distance
after I am animated
I am dark, her
dark dark

Of fire

I slept you
I noticed you
I recollected you

I sent you
In late autumn I
passed you
At midsummer I revered you

You lost me
You toddled me
In autumn you taught me

I will want you in late
autumn

Dared

Trusting nighttime
Darkness, whose darkness will be
non-white, will trust her benighted dark
Decaying darkness

Old as a wheel
Animated as a bronze
A distance, whose dusk
will be light,
will murmur daytime
and safety

Will she be far-off?

Yet a noisy nostril will wonder

Dismantling
A devotion
Dusk

A wickedness, whose dark will
be sour, will
glisten hearing dark

Now

Attention
Corruption
Of darkness