Shrinking coffin
Have you seen a pine plank
jump like a mad thing
when the dead touched it?
Wood loathes
flesh that dreamt of pure white wings
gliding through clean air
unsullied
by touch of mud, puddle, or damp branch,
hatched dry, bloodless,
borne on blameless winds through empty sky.
— Basil Cartryte
Of the Measure, in which the preceding Poem is written:
The form, of my own devising, is called the quence. It is (pardon me, William Blake) “Poetry Fetter’d.” The number of letters in the last word of the title dictates the number of syllables in the first line. The number of letters in the last word of each line dictates the number of syllables in the next line. The poem can be of any length.
Halloween 2026 day 13