There is sand in my pockets
I am waiting on it to turn to gold
While the holes in my shoes
Refuse to tred carefully
On the contents of my unconsciousness
The constallated images of my mind
Giving them tangible form
Of opulent manifestation
Black rubies of forbidden thought
Who give birth to new emotions
Where galactic magicians sing
Incantatery truisms of other realities
Where banality is evaded with sharp realistic taste
That breeds on impulse of eternal heaviness
Of emotional anguish which seethe and bubble
Burst blisters of my charged inner self
My castle, my cell, my coffin, my grave
In ******** detonation of undiluted words
Concentrated, full, a blue fire of energized thrusts
Sustaining uninterrupted creation of imagery
There is sand in my pockets
I am waiting on it to turn to gold
I discard my shoes but retain their holes
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 2:53 PM UTC
There is sand in my pockets
I am waiting on it to turn to gold
While the holes in my shoes
Refuse to tred carefully
On the contents of my unconsciousness
The constallated images of my mind
Giving them tangible form
Of opulent manifestation
Black rubies of forbidden thought
Who give birth to new emotions
Where galactic magicians sing
Incantatery truisms of other realities
Where banality is evaded with sharp realistic taste
That breeds on impulse of eternal heaviness
Of emotional anguish which seethe and bubble
Burst blisters of my charged inner self
My castle, my cell, my coffin, my grave
In ******** detonation of undiluted words
Concentrated, full, a blue fire of energized thrusts
Sustaining uninterrupted creation of imagery
There is sand in my pockets
I am waiting on it to turn to gold
I discard my shoes but retain their holes
Request permission to use this poem