Asleep like no other thing, my heart embroiled in wakefulness discarded… i plunder the trivial epics of my disjoint to gather to a flame more miracle than a hope it burns.
Dreaming where the fumes are mute. my lustrous disasters sprawling like prawn on a lake of fire dismembered by a remembrance as vagrant as a horde of precious where a kept denial is a fob. and a wheel is another sleep for a turn.
wings clipped by comets as earnest as thuggish moons, plundering tides for their rhythms to keep the drums of doom at bay... as pretty as bone marrow whistling moo to a deaf zealot in the ziggurat of a posh coma.
Asleep, where the aire is bending to the north of a pinch of earth that dawn squanders on the mortal eye… i surmise all oblivion in verse and succumb to susurrus of oblique charms.... moon mad with barking stones in my gullet foiled by the magma of my intense starvation.
hell-kept in heaven’s mockery for the lack of an Always as Perfect as a Never.