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Grant Boer May 2017
Faces faces all see the slates and bitter tastes of
Unsound grace and commonplace disdain.

Better yet, better answer quick, before they see
The lines in your face and the lies that came to be

Sit back kick lateral, mind spew collateral, little splatter
Ink splot shatter mattering horn in stained distraught sock

No thought or word intention not heard visceral stink begun to slink way up to the think-ing parts not heart, not head, but bloated sack-

-Eats its way while mind tries to retract the thing it tainted last, can’t quite recall what was meant by “slow not fast, future never past”

O the kind, o the gentle, never questioned, dismantled, inner workings conversing on how to persecute the last remaining sane thought.

Eyes torn far from painted face, ears burst in from cambion mace, divided incited read my righted left hand sacred name been taken who what blood skin heat shift weak strong bear tweak **** scare off

**** down, come up, *******, ritual rited.
Madness carries till incited
Noise sight smell lust break. break.

Law unbound as skin peels back
Flesh melt the bone, pain is lack-ing
Face fear become the truth
Or lie forever drenched in youth
I'm slop
Grant Boer Oct 2013
Entanglement of the fourth

First there is the lie, the start, the easy process.

Once you take the first step you seem to control fate
But sure footing is only an illusion, like the fabrication you made

Second.  You become affirmed in your fantasy and it
Becomes a game, a pastime, and addiction. But only to those
Who are acquainted at a distance. Always

Third.  The Transparency of self is complete and the tales
are told to those who know the truth. Colors fade

Vibrant curtains put up to mask a decrepit house.  Spiders weaving to resurrect a hollowed out shell with thread, when a pillar is required.

Where fire should cleanse, instead secrets lie
This must be revealed.

Fourth.  Elaborate design turns to intricate demise.  The artwork created
becomes the tomb of the weaver.  The webs become ropes and the beloved become the distrusting and they pull tighter and tighter, when the ropes should be cut.

There will be pain. There will be sorrow.  But these webs only inspire predators and fools.

Four fold. *me
Grant Boer Jun 2013
It falls.
Falls into place and time
Flowing evermore into the grand design
Entrancing and conniving throughout stone and tree
Space looms great to seal the key
Without within withdrawal withheld
The scent that is but seldom smelled
Envelopes and assaults our every sense
Premonitions of a kind pretense
Yearning feelings calling out
Let us now relieve the drought
Brook trickle slender and slow
For now put end to eternal woe
Grant Boer May 2013
Now seen

Summer is coming
Winter is passed
Winter is past
Winter is pacified
White sheets conceiling black ice and hidden lust
Shone bright against clear sky the glimmer blinds, lies

Summer is coming
Winter is over
Winter exists
Winter will never leave
Bright sun and thick air surround and subdue the grey,,
Lust has its way and love sighs away

Winter has love
Winder hides lust
Shifting snow spurs on those who wander and solidifies the doubt

But summer,
Summer is here
and Secrets and lovers must be torn asunder

— The End —