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devin-asher-corryPoems
Almost getting caught. A pipe under the seat, ceci n'est pas une pipe- c'est mon Christ. But blindness is permanent, and no one will stop the flogging for me either. But I escaped. To turn upon my visage, so splintered, despite the still silver, glaring back. I see the droning lines, countless faces, cloned from my lips, pressing farther back, before Adam. Each one bends giraffe-like, awkwardly clasping the lines- Lines of sunset and beetlejuice- prelude to drawn scars, who will sit beneath the surface, aching for stars and biting the roots of forgotten trees. Rotten cell phones, wild horses in captivity, wheat-free Italian: the cobblestones walked by my souls. The path ends nowhere, the destination crumbled under closed eyes- so the end is nigh, but effectively unseen. I am Solomon forgotten: sinner, soothsayer, and poet. Only Weeds will grace my grave.
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Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
One of the good days
Almost getting caught. A pipe under the seat, ceci n'est pas une pipe- c'est mon Christ. But blindness is permanent, and no one will stop the flogging for me either. But I escaped. To turn upon my visage, so splintered, despite the still silver, glaring back. I see the droning lines, countless faces, cloned from my lips, pressing farther back, before Adam. Each one bends giraffe-like, awkwardly clasping the lines- Lines of sunset and beetlejuice- prelude to drawn scars, who will sit beneath the surface, aching for stars and biting the roots of forgotten trees. Rotten cell phones, wild horses in captivity, wheat-free Italian: the cobblestones walked by my souls. The path ends nowhere, the destination crumbled under closed eyes- so the end is nigh, but effectively unseen. I am Solomon forgotten: sinner, soothsayer, and poet. Only Weeds will grace my grave.
devin-asher-corry
Written by
devin-asher-corry
American
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
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