I need you to roll me a cigarette,
little girl. Give a twirl.
Flick the Bic and spindle your hair.
Will-O-Wisp in every curl.
Princely visions laced within your
every exhale - sparkle fog. Alive,
thoughts so eager to dive and weave something vivacious
Memory’s mantra, colony hive.
-
We were born in a bog, favors never come easy.
Just stepping stones and play things
for the spoiled, the renegades, and identity seekers.
Impressed not by treks of rat kings.
Perhaps a crag will open up with a yawn
and swallow down towers of sheep-men.
Digesting their white picket vaults in the core.
Maybe I’ll get some sleep then.
-
Void Water throne room;
on golden stools they sit.
Not shiny chairs to squat on,
but the stool they crave to ****
We lay in watch - cackling, amused -
As the chamber corrupts its own brood.
Together, we cast jubilant tones.
Beggar’s sphere language renewed.
-
Beneath the crooked branches of the walnut tree -
all bards fell silent. She riddles: “In which key?”.
The answer was the sound of ten-thousand vibrating wings.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
I need you to roll me a cigarette,
little girl. Give a twirl.
Flick the Bic and spindle your hair.
Will-O-Wisp in every curl.
Princely visions laced within your
every exhale - sparkle fog. Alive,
thoughts so eager to dive and weave something vivacious
Memory’s mantra, colony hive.
-
We were born in a bog, favors never come easy.
Just stepping stones and play things
for the spoiled, the renegades, and identity seekers.
Impressed not by treks of rat kings.
Perhaps a crag will open up with a yawn
and swallow down towers of sheep-men.
Digesting their white picket vaults in the core.
Maybe I’ll get some sleep then.
-
Void Water throne room;
on golden stools they sit.
Not shiny chairs to squat on,
but the stool they crave to ****
We lay in watch - cackling, amused -
As the chamber corrupts its own brood.
Together, we cast jubilant tones.
Beggar’s sphere language renewed.
-
Beneath the crooked branches of the walnut tree -
all bards fell silent. She riddles: “In which key?”.
The answer was the sound of ten-thousand vibrating wings.
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