z

Young Writers Society


404: Not Found

Oops! This link might be corrupted.
You should check for any Miss Spellings.
While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Moreover, the Moon— (1948)
by Mina Loy

Face of the skies

preside

over our wonder.



Fluorescent

truant of heaven

draw us under.



Silver, circular corpse

your decease

infects us with unendurable ease,



touching nerve-terminals

to thermal icicles



Coercive as coma, frail as bloom

innuendoes of your inverse dawn

suffuse the self;

our every corpuscle become an elf.


By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.
— Genesis 3:19