Dec 2015
he is in love with ****
tho' love is unfamiliar ground, for what is it
if never known or felt, defined
like the touch of first rain in spring
neither does this bring joy
to him,
new to this, but in it's circumference
he must linger
and observe such obeyence
on octane rushed inner space...
he is in love with a human *****
the shape and size oddly
gleams
his strength above
yet attentive below, how Dali-images he melts
flap-cakes on forrest-limbs, barren elms
and soggy wall clocks that sit in the dry lakes
sadness of a numbered face...
he is rusting from the wonder
how does it function
like keys to unlock hidden thunder?
he is curious to how this might sound / under
clank of legs? ***** of the skins
how soft will his iron lips begin?
tic-tic-ticking : his suedo-heart's repetition
no different than those yesterdays
mechanical, steady,
as oil perspires from hollow wells
and in moments of fearing rain
showers will stiffen the joints like pertrified woods
man, shuts closed the foil shiney eyes,
and mouth of silver lips
rusting in the quickness like lightning
fingers the opaque sky...
he must have it
this new flesh of a thing called a ****
so he may tell the sunrise
and use the magic it gives men
******* to name the flesh...
the affects
are unsimiliar to him, made of hollow tin
man, he is in love with ****
his mouth is crystalized thin
moaning through the metallics of rust & unspoken
sins
the affects
on him, made hollow ... they are as similar
to the pink heavy man
having loved the woods, the same
but walks away
in flesh & pouring rain
on him without a word to say
petrified and moaning,
lightning in the skies - yes, woodsman,
the affects of your love
are the same,
with or without a heart...
even rusted
he is in love with ****...
sad power of men
to finally understand ... there is more
to flesh and less of tin
when it deals with love
tick-tock-ticking
the function of the heart within
shells of men will mock
Body. Heart/Spirit.
Watts.
tho' love is unfamiliar ground, for what is it
if never known or felt, defined
like the touch of first rain in spring
neither does this bring joy
to him,
new to this, but in it's circumference
he must linger
and observe such obeyence
on octane rushed inner space...
he is in love with a human *****
the shape and size oddly
gleams
his strength above
yet attentive below, how Dali-images he melts
flap-cakes on forrest-limbs, barren elms
and soggy wall clocks that sit in the dry lakes
sadness of a numbered face...
he is rusting from the wonder
how does it function
like keys to unlock hidden thunder?
he is curious to how this might sound / under
clank of legs? ***** of the skins
how soft will his iron lips begin?
tic-tic-ticking : his suedo-heart's repetition
no different than those yesterdays
mechanical, steady,
as oil perspires from hollow wells
and in moments of fearing rain
showers will stiffen the joints like pertrified woods
man, shuts closed the foil shiney eyes,
and mouth of silver lips
rusting in the quickness like lightning
fingers the opaque sky...
he must have it
this new flesh of a thing called a ****
so he may tell the sunrise
and use the magic it gives men
******* to name the flesh...
the affects
are unsimiliar to him, made of hollow tin
man, he is in love with ****
his mouth is crystalized thin
moaning through the metallics of rust & unspoken
sins
the affects
on him, made hollow ... they are as similar
to the pink heavy man
having loved the woods, the same
but walks away
in flesh & pouring rain
on him without a word to say
petrified and moaning,
lightning in the skies - yes, woodsman,
the affects of your love
are the same,
with or without a heart...
even rusted
he is in love with ****...
sad power of men
to finally understand ... there is more
to flesh and less of tin
when it deals with love
tick-tock-ticking
the function of the heart within
shells of men will mock
Body. Heart/Spirit.
Watts.
