some robots
will have to be punished,
some dreams of patterned will
led out of living space
through an empty corridor,
your flame of organic nature
tempered by collision with water,
framed in mating the most
opposite numbers,
beauty of rains and seasons all
beyond reason,
scythes of bronze
sky scraping floors
far up in the air from
where we know our clipped roses
spit tossing in a wayward constellation
groove touched by a film of pearls
No comments:
Post a Comment