day yad

We cherish
our moments of
wasted wastelands.
They perused
the faces of
known unknowns.
We stare at the
mirrors of
lengthy texts.
They licked
the silvers of
haughty syntax.

Who was it we saw - Mallarme? mallarme.
Sounds like a jam.
An expired jammed bottle of jam
served on
a crooked pram.
(Forgive me for my slam and spam.
But -
We all serve our dues in tombs of tombs of tombs.)

We demand something more - more of an unpolished ore -
not roses
and proses
of doses
of moses'
long verses.
Who are we they see?
Jesters
who pesters
the yester's westers and resters.
And
We,

/ to break the mirrors.

May\be. \.Be what may la.