Exits the friendly
From sun circled centre
Where no wispy 'membrance,
though 'tis what we're made of,
dost tangle in beaches or camp grounds.
Forgetting is lonely
in mustard seed corners
though lonely has purpose,
if purpose is stardom,
when taken in two over doses.
Chopping aortas
from hair raisèd partners
and sewing mine own onto
maddery night times
where blood is awaited and tha-thumping rythms exchange their romances thu-thampingly.
Grasping at cries,
and at nights overlapping.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Tilt the life liquid,
from occupied plastic;
so rivers stream
where you can't see,
but you can hear.
It is kin to phlegm
in the back of my throat
And 'scaped from my lips,
a hero drops,
Too worn from tubes
To accept another.
Askew a tongue
to a soldier who's fallen.
Rescue the numbed.
A soldier.
What makes a hero is loneliness
Because feeling lonely is all he is.
So pity on him. Folly it is.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC