clean in the filth where the spectre yelps and bleeds
my wrists; bound to betray my hand -
i gather gods, too weak to be
unloved completely -
without vanishing
into blue
what?
spotless in the hell of my blot
in the chambers of my open wound...
i glue glaciers to the sun's heel
and mark time
with shadows -
i cast into other moons
for lack of a reason
to do otherwise.
in a world
so otherworldly
to love me less
than snails
in clarified
butter
is to play god.
but
you have to be
God's Fool
or the Devil's
yes-man
saying no.
you remark and i flinch in the breeze fantastic.
i blast past it, and return; not unscathed
but ungathered
in the Harvest of our
Misadventures.
I'm an indentured surgeon
cleaving the cancer
from the polyp
of our necessary
illusion.
in this Ocean
I'm not waving...
only drowning
in the wishful.
i barricade tsunamis
to tide-pool
the fathoms of our
fumes.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
clean in the filth where the spectre yelps and bleeds
my wrists; bound to betray my hand -
i gather gods, too weak to be
unloved completely -
without vanishing
into blue
what?
spotless in the hell of my blot
in the chambers of my open wound...
i glue glaciers to the sun's heel
and mark time
with shadows -
i cast into other moons
for lack of a reason
to do otherwise.
in a world
so otherworldly
to love me less
than snails
in clarified
butter
is to play god.
but
you have to be
God's Fool
or the Devil's
yes-man
saying no.
you remark and i flinch in the breeze fantastic.
i blast past it, and return; not unscathed
but ungathered
in the Harvest of our
Misadventures.
I'm an indentured surgeon
cleaving the cancer
from the polyp
of our necessary
illusion.
in this Ocean
I'm not waving...
only drowning
in the wishful.
i barricade tsunamis
to tide-pool
the fathoms of our
fumes.
Request permission to use this poem