#nothingmorenothingless
shadows slow
to the point where only the wine matters
they stop and watch awhile wondering,
"today"?
perpetual Sundays denounce tomorrow across a fictional bridge,
constricting as a pulmonary sigh, though even the laziest of walks would suffice to sluice a cleaner way
but I jaw the sky from where I lay, expect that it should change into a major key,
corroborate my sickest dreams and mimic mouthed mischief
and I lie in many more ways
dreary under the prescription of nervous attendance
beyond the arctic eye, the blue skied sighs
stare through the Artex topography of childhood
behind the curtains patterned with glimpsed bears,
at best,
at worst the horror of a dead childhood friend
amongst the machine drawn memories
a path beyond the puddled neon jigsaws might lead me
to a closed set where the gentlemanly objects of debauched and thrilled robberies decline
while stretched behind the soft reach of a silken knee,
a nyloned thigh
the plainest lips pose the riddle
that entertains your pity
yet ***** all hope of a shy siege and leave me hints
in kiss shaped welts,
roses smeared like lipstick misses,
somehow innocent in the routine of predicament
then parcelled into dreams of hyena logic
I am of a mind
that, in winter, the oxygen levels
decline as the trees hunch
like upturned, diseased lungs
breathless and malign
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC