Matthew Sean Markonis

Jazz Poem 1






Other people gather ‘round

The truth has come at last!

But I don’t see it,
I only see its shell.

I see it’s gone around and turned its back.

Why for, wherefore?
Hell, Hell.

I see its shell.

I see a baby’s stiff white fingers
molding and moistening a piggy bank, as well.

The egg that fell,
the guardian that swept him up.

Hell, Hell.

I only see its shell.

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