Israel nods the indiscrete pause, mediated,

  To W.B.Yeats

Israel nods the indiscrete pause, mediated,

But what has its roots the wonderful prose

That sated for excess has horizon and guest

Adjoined three planets in orbit of fateds

To eat the mouthfuls manna indicated so

What can repair the road to oblivion so

And happily determine an aura of Zion

The disposed and reposed is harlequin

Love for the matter of which we are born

Taking to the ton what stone is refrained

Mercy and to pain whereas the redoubt

Has made no motion outwardly or torn

All holiness is born though in figure pore

The trickle of androgynous hologram 

Stunned in sight the suprising paragon

It is now, master worker, when I to thee dove

 It is now, master worker, when I to thee dove

And argue with myself have wove a poem

Its purpose is reply and replication to thou

Whose articles and lys were as valley to home

Incendiary world was as though all innocence

And temporal the stanzas that implicit vogue

You are the captain of my soul and its coarse

Antiquity has no room for its own traipses ars

That this phrase has compunction and synergy

Brings doubt to the center of futurism wham

Its lightning is as doppelganger that yuo are them

How has this measure miracle beginning or end?

Tell me to see in the stars that beautitude psalm

Show me what it’s worth to be attitude’s balm

And how must these arbors known to be seeds

Been especially sauntering warblings?