Poem-A-Day: Day 554

Cycle 20

The whole aim, the whole movement
was a symphonic spree come to coda;
an epic faith no more relying on the relay;
drenched dancing misfits monster smashed,
and two by three the demon laughed
into the crashing night, waving simple stride
from wiry arms and sinew blended brain;
the only thing left, laughed laughable.