i see graves in centrifugally waiting
faces
of vain.
mortised to sleep, somnambulist
of this prickly road,
i kneel to pick flowers
and throw them
onto the face i long for
understanding my eyes
my mouth
my body
steelwork of soul,
tossing as if a toast
to our end-fate afloat
in a raven's wingtip:
we are all deaths
wa
iti
ng.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
i see graves in centrifugally waiting
faces
of vain.
mortised to sleep, somnambulist
of this prickly road,
i kneel to pick flowers
and throw them
onto the face i long for
understanding my eyes
my mouth
my body
steelwork of soul,
tossing as if a toast
to our end-fate afloat
in a raven's wingtip:
we are all deaths
wa
iti
ng.
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