everything withers on a vine like
grapes
to
raisins.
Seeking the power of sublimation,
I grasp the ghost of my sadness
by the scruff of it's ghostly collar
and look it in the ghostly eyes to tell it,
as resolutely as Horatio Nelson
screaming
commands to his fleet to attack
Napoleon's assembled navy
at the mouth of Aboukir Bay
two centuries
and
19 years before the meanwhile write,
that I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I really can't breathe you
sonuvabitch.
*but in the end, my victory is as
assured as Napoleon's eventual
defeat. I will route my demons at
their own little Waterloo...
and even if they return
from exile to rule one last time,
they will find their second attempt
much
more
fleeting.*
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
everything withers on a vine like
grapes
to
raisins.
Seeking the power of sublimation,
I grasp the ghost of my sadness
by the scruff of it's ghostly collar
and look it in the ghostly eyes to tell it,
as resolutely as Horatio Nelson
screaming
commands to his fleet to attack
Napoleon's assembled navy
at the mouth of Aboukir Bay
two centuries
and
19 years before the meanwhile write,
that I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I really can't breathe you
sonuvabitch.
*but in the end, my victory is as
assured as Napoleon's eventual
defeat. I will route my demons at
their own little Waterloo...
and even if they return
from exile to rule one last time,
they will find their second attempt
much
more
fleeting.*
