English poetry

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FECKLESS WITH DISGUST

FECKLESS WITH DISGUST

All erasure of pain
Is like the contrary of
Dust that weighs
Dark in my lungs
When I am
Feckless with disgust.
I stroke & poke
My loins before
They tighten.
My feet stomp
Fields of color
Reminding me of
Something I once knew.
Dying frees
The spirit
From the mind.
We plod along
Regardless of
The pain.
Soon we grow
Big & fat.
We stop
Forgetting, far off
From whatever
Binds us
Mindlessly
To empty space.
Beginning here
We reignite
Desire.
We will surrender
What is far from us
& call it love.



Poem FECKLESS WITH DISGUST - Jerome Rothenberg