drinking mugs of rancid petroleum
a bad joke in God's image
counting pebbles beneath a bridge
to calibrate the destiny of fleas
the roles of dancing chairs
a velvet noose above the roaring flame
a butchered name.
Bones reaching through rings of vapor
fresh horizons of captivity
disguised as fate.
The realms of seed gathering plastic
have opened up. The heart finally
buried in granite has
closed its magic eyelid
on the defined and dying world
eclipsed by shards
of what it broke in birth
a spirit killed by flesh
suffocated in language.
No comments:
Post a Comment