Your abuse is sentimental to me

Your smile is a creep

You’re wrong in all number of right ways for me

You snore in your sleep

You don’t look pretty when

You look your best

You’re an ape in sheep’s clothing

You’re no worse than the rest

You’re a sore loser

You know I’m one too

You solve all my conundrums for me,

I’ll pick apart one for you.

Echos, from deep hollow fly.
Beating wings,
Soaring high.

They blitz glory cross the sky.
Where you sleep,
Tremble I.

Behold bright symphonic Blast!
Halt the snail bite damage of youth.

There is none to resist the place and time of one who missed the equal avenue.
Dropping before your phantom, dispirited dew, before shadow portrait drops.

Swine with silver throats!
Corpse of embers preamble multi-various multi-vacuous semi-forte polar rhythms.
Sequencing selves in wood and wire. Pinions at drifted tempo, quavering for poly-syllabic idioms,
In sectioned hostels for their sense and glory restrung.

Saccharine Sea Maiden shell.

Nuggety pearl

Sinking in the tidal wreath.

Watching where the beach

Rests up it.

And finds the bay of glee

Bequeathed.

Asleep by a river

   In tidal eclipse.

Girl with straw hair

   And strawberry lips.


Placid.

   As the afternoon sun.

Her dreams are of scarlet

   And barely begun.


I do not know why

   She rests here on my bank.

Her time would be brief

   She told this me frank.


But here she lays bidden.

   Shut up with her eyes

Where mine look with longing

   To cacophonous skies.

I’ve made a book
  in my bin.

Waste bag epic.
  Volumes? Three.

Utter nonsense
  But to me

My big bad book
  In My Bin