The Sycamore of Sorrow

The following Page is from Marc's Book of Poetry "Warlock of Love". The poem can be found on Page 9 (and of course Marc died in the 9^th Month. His choice of the Sycamore is interesting, given that 'The Bolan Tree' is a Sycamore.

Sycamore of sorrow, pray I'm swallowed
in the swell of your yelling leafy breast.
My crippled bended chest is shamed
through flaming crowsfeet, soaring nouns
of norse confessions,
dark earth gremlins, rootlegged, hobbling
in the cryptess of my turned wound.
Ill-famed fair prince, steal my lightning,
stake me with steel, for my haughtiness.
Straddle my storm head with your abyss shroud.
Call me harlot.
Call me wormywordler.
Everso, but out loud.

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