With the weight on the world on your shoulders
Will you be the one to crawl?
The serpent writhing on the earth
The angel before the fall

Will the whisper of your greatest sins
Send shivers down your neck?
Will the kiss of death bite through your lips?
Will remembrance take your breath?

Do you crave the iron blades of truth
The wisp serenity
Did the sirens tempt your wicked heart
Will your penance be the fee?

With the weight of the world on your shoulders?
Your knees dragging the earth
Can you find yourself sinking in
When you're choking on your worth

one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose

mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
                      and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the

ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina   in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-

gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain,     led by a Jumpy

***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot     peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy

language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into

eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean

plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’

“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”

That feeling of absolute freedom**
that only comes in the summer
When trees are green and grass is greener
Trees seem taller and nights are longer.

We wait for this time of year
every second that it's not around
then take it for granted
until it disappears once more

Summer is youth
it's all of the bad being burnt away
in the beautiful sunlight
It's long hair and tan skin
It's cold drinks and young love
It's happiness.
It's freedom.

We lie a bed,
Sheltered in cloud,
Your words, soft, cut
Like fawning feathers
Serrated in a bone vise,
Our mattress was a grave,
Six feet, founded asunder,
Your pulling hair ropes me in
Two, the fabric of fleet, tightening
Fingers, laid without guile nor shame,
Without a drop of torn, tearing tenderness,
I am hollow in bleak breaking, spiking silences,
You remain cautionary, vacant in the blanketed hush
Tried, as we were doomed, in the noonday rush of sun
That slept in crawling frosts of creeping shade.

Merry-go-round Dreams
Written by Adam M. Snow

Merry-go-round dreams;
round and round it goes.
In a cloudy scene,
in infinite spiral;
on and on,
never stopping.
Always repeating,
nightmarish dreams;
your's alone.
Trapped repeating,
day after day,
night after night;
same ol' dream,
-dreaming.
http://amsnow.weebly.com

the love for yourself
heals everything

Stiff-spined pigs clawing at shins,
thighs, torso; arms and head.
Effervescent atoms spit
from pressurised cans
to clouded, burning eyes.
Batons drop, judging
my ever rolling sins;
breaking bland sheet
of skin into blue, black,
red, swelling  purple canvas:
mounds of flesh,
batted time and time again.
Arm twisted, mud faced being, sinking.
Face first dirt. Cuffed, bony wrists
annoy broken-back shoulders:
unforeseen angles.
Frustrated muscles stretch
bemused tendons.
Freedom demolished,
kicking screams provoke
further chest knocks,
ambushed four to one
your body flops;
sagging over tight-gripped,
blue and black jackets,
helmets, batons, badges.
Tossed to the backseat;
prisoner of the siren.