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removed.polaroid-scrabblePoems
i'm nothing but Nabokov in chase of a butterfly, but instead: i chase moths, and among fox cackles, i too find a respite, a "resurrection" might one tell... so sun and the butterfly flutter... so moon and the lard-fly gamma, or bony chequers and black void insomnia, as thus heard: forever you entombed in the forever said: unrest - that the carpenter's children might fear me... that the carpenter alone will not: finding his work sensible and worthy a roof over his head... will not fear me eavesdropping the congratulatory meal - when all congregate... but as my Friday sentences me to the tomb of my body, i am catching moths in the night, for the moth is Islam's version of the butterfly - and from Shia aversion and mere Iran, an opus plague of wonder: gratis chant and the solitary woman's voice: idealism above mortgage... if only a dream... and by dream suffice... then the asking merger of such hopes... and later years un-lived... then by swarm and by no condolence the forfeit entombing... charcoal chants, as Catholic as Satanic on the pleading reminiscence of said creed... then onto moth, the lard-fly from the Everest of Night... as splendid in colour... then unto the butterfly from the Sahara of Day... or the said compliments, dying, slowly, arbitrarily, or as feared: thus as eaten and packaged: industrially man's limbs equal to chicken thighs.
0
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
moths' arcadia
i'm nothing but Nabokov in chase of a butterfly, but instead: i chase moths, and among fox cackles, i too find a respite, a "resurrection" might one tell... so sun and the butterfly flutter... so moon and the lard-fly gamma, or bony chequers and black void insomnia, as thus heard: forever you entombed in the forever said: unrest - that the carpenter's children might fear me... that the carpenter alone will not: finding his work sensible and worthy a roof over his head... will not fear me eavesdropping the congratulatory meal - when all congregate... but as my Friday sentences me to the tomb of my body, i am catching moths in the night, for the moth is Islam's version of the butterfly - and from Shia aversion and mere Iran, an opus plague of wonder: gratis chant and the solitary woman's voice: idealism above mortgage... if only a dream... and by dream suffice... then the asking merger of such hopes... and later years un-lived... then by swarm and by no condolence the forfeit entombing... charcoal chants, as Catholic as Satanic on the pleading reminiscence of said creed... then onto moth, the lard-fly from the Everest of Night... as splendid in colour... then unto the butterfly from the Sahara of Day... or the said compliments, dying, slowly, arbitrarily, or as feared: thus as eaten and packaged: industrially man's limbs equal to chicken thighs.
Written by
removed.polaroid-scrabble
36/M
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
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