Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

As someone else’s slavesong spirit hymn—
as someone else’s – yes, I’ve sung mine own –
for pure-scratch timbre, deep and limber, on
a solo a cappella soulful air
as razor edged as new moon night when cold
is wrapped in lamb’s wool blankets, slept outside—
as alien arrangement: You, divine,
usurp my words, expand my damned design
for lovesongs grand – and skillfully you chide
by lullaby, not wrath, like grace you’d sold
at cost to you. And that’s enough, that there—
where I so many times have come upon
you, where I’ve screamed my song for you— you lone
succeed: your word upon each wind, each whim.