Cascade of Memonistries Flood the Daylights So Soft Into the Night

from the very light,
the blistering nought, if i
sought
e'er the blast
of the raspberry mocha
bombast:
i see that it is
sheer
bombardment:

the insanity of those
who think
that anything you say that pinpoints
a
fault is an attack on their sensibility:

among the
roses, amng the dead,
the flowing red, the crimson
lithes,
the fluttering rhythms of the mellow
skies,
so darkly falls
the shelters:

in the mist
of the darling sound,
toss shrill mallows of the mounds,
resound,
i thought it is clutched merely
to
know
dimes: