out for no nursery of accolade.
i am trying to sound my way
into a great mishap.
wing me the streets of all and i shall
give back their names to their fathers.
taut as a gun is held,
these words wield their unapologetic
assaults.
the next face i see will be the victim,
and it will be ******
the discombobulated moon
gloats without a price tonight.
the white hand of it sees a figment of solace, rumples it,
disconcerts a votive clearing
reducing it to a bawl of
a windswept tumble of leaves.
i am now in front of the machine;
its salutary silence, its waiting groans,
its orchestra of trite gears slamming
the ornate of words and cutting
the stem of the flower that once
hurt me with its beauty,
i see your face
in this mound of havoc.
the pain of marvel's presence,
inclemencies of longings
everything takes space and trembles
in its place.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
out for no nursery of accolade.
i am trying to sound my way
into a great mishap.
wing me the streets of all and i shall
give back their names to their fathers.
taut as a gun is held,
these words wield their unapologetic
assaults.
the next face i see will be the victim,
and it will be ******
the discombobulated moon
gloats without a price tonight.
the white hand of it sees a figment of solace, rumples it,
disconcerts a votive clearing
reducing it to a bawl of
a windswept tumble of leaves.
i am now in front of the machine;
its salutary silence, its waiting groans,
its orchestra of trite gears slamming
the ornate of words and cutting
the stem of the flower that once
hurt me with its beauty,
i see your face
in this mound of havoc.
the pain of marvel's presence,
inclemencies of longings
everything takes space and trembles
in its place.
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