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samuel-francisPoems
I dragged my feet, cartography is a theory internal. This drift from mud to mud a cell. Something lingers deep and unseen a thought. Singular and isolated, somehow it breaths. It lives. If I wait can anything remain. Tearing and grinding Inhaling into empty vessels a poignant shudder. This is more than a test. I watch knowing the horror I embrace it. Caressing the curvature tempting savagery. Dawn is followed by noon a haze is coming. Awake to nothing. I fear death. logic is deaths critic. My pulse is weary venom is coursing now. Stinging my perspective I will write back soon, promise. I will have much to tell.
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Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
Ode
I dragged my feet, cartography is a theory internal. This drift from mud to mud a cell. Something lingers deep and unseen a thought. Singular and isolated, somehow it breaths. It lives. If I wait can anything remain. Tearing and grinding Inhaling into empty vessels a poignant shudder. This is more than a test. I watch knowing the horror I embrace it. Caressing the curvature tempting savagery. Dawn is followed by noon a haze is coming. Awake to nothing. I fear death. logic is deaths critic. My pulse is weary venom is coursing now. Stinging my perspective I will write back soon, promise. I will have much to tell.
Copyright Samuel Francis
Written by
samuel-francis
English
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
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