"lunacy" poems
593
I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—
And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—
The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes
That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—
The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—
I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—
’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—
To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—
40.2k
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
Urges through the night, a blade dancing with its mistress, discarding what has summoned up in her way alike a ****** crazed devotion,
Scarlet tears make their way down her cheek, washing the sand off as the pillars around begin to collapse alike cards one by one at the time,
Phantoms rage as a pure flower appears to commence blooming,
The warped moon embraces the shadows of such fools as it rises,
Actions with not much meaning seek their rampage as the battle field becomes frail and soulless through this sleepless night of lunacy,
When the flood of realisation arrives she will be swept away unlike the wise who make a more solid, stadfast decision. How trecious,
Does she want to take a dance with this cruel world she rampages on, are her ideals fitting for this battle she is about to win for now,
Drenched in blood and impurities of her work, her mind remains pure, innocent, not even sweating one thought to the consequences,
Mercy nor compassion are unlikely to be granted in this darkening realm, not to her dancing knife or her lunatic ****** devotion,
Time is moving, as she sacrafices her soul for her actions,
Taking another dance in this distorted dark
~ Umi
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
It's fine
I mean it when I say,
That everything's fine
Even if I'm slowly losing my mind
I'm fine
You can believe me or not
But I'd like to say one more time
That I'm fine
It's right
Nothing better than this
Optimistic lunacy
In the face of cold misery
Dead friends
While they drink themselves to life
Smiles ten miles wide
But I know that it's alright
Break backs
Trying make them take me back
Send love but it's never enough
I guess I'm alright with that
Send notes
Written in calligraphy
All the words read perfectly
Crying out to come back to me
I'm fine
Please believe me when I lie
Straight to your worried eye
That I will be just fine
Take time
I smile when I hear the words
Please, say that you're alright
Even when I don't know what it's like
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
♦ ♦ ♦
She was an earnest devotée.
Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay
were globally diverse (read: white).
A liberal bark preceded bite.
Her crystal clearer than her vision;
she provoked bemused derision
as she breathed intolerance
toward all who would not dance her dance.
She swooned for distant pagan tribes,
attuned to their exotic vibes –
rapt in multi-culti piety
strangely deaf to her own society,
judged by her as abomination;
unredeemed. The background station
always stuck on N.P.R.
(the soundtrack of her culture war,
Pacifica News and Democracy Nows,
and other progressive holy cows)
Her motherland a shameful mystery:
guilty first, and void of history –
its origins defiled, corrupted…
while she enjoyed uninterrupted
freedom to pursue her whims:
misguided one-world global hymns.
The sisterhood of hu(man) kind
was foremost in her earnest mind –
even should that same sisterhood
be sealed by her well-meaning blood.
Out on a date with global death
she hoped to unify the earth
in solidarity with causes
led by killers, warlord bosses,
thugs she never knew existed
who, if she’d met she’d have resisted.
Her theory landed far from her praxis
spun, by default, on an evil axis.
Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed
quite certain she was well-informed,
at benefits, non-profit functions
rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons;
warm with righteous spite for Israel,
aiding and abetting Ishmael
with fellow-travelers, like-minded
similarly hateful, blinded,
rattling sabers, scimitars, axes…
(lunacy never wanes, but waxes
hotter with the passing years
as activists confront their fears).
She finally shilled for the Intifada
(stopping short of reciting Shahada),
reaching out to the terrorist
with righteous raised progressive fist…
offering thus her neck to blade:
collateral to be repaid
by murderers who couldn’t care less
about her open-mindedness.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
I am tired of my rants
like a millions hammers
pounding away in my brain
constant chatter drowns sanity
expectations love and affection
comfort insecurities and misadventures
regrets lost and found
a million lives not lived
what could be and what is
hauntings and remembrances
shadows looming large on today
today that is not perfect
perfection that is just in mind
mind on verge of lunacy
constant screams drowned
in the agonizing void
void that is my life
I am tired, very tired
tears they have a mind of their own
roll down when you least expect
open your soul to strangers
strangers that glare
stay in dark away from glare
tucked in blanket of oblivion
lost and lonely yet sane
lost and lonely yet sane
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Standing on the edge to a sea of pure lunacy this lily blooms,
Her scars, she wishes them not to fade but to shed more blood,
Corrupted by the world around her, which took what she held dear, The only wish to seek revenge she blooms while sympathising with fury and hatred thicker than the spreading of the darkness of night,
A murderous intent, likely energetic enough to break through the ground to get what her desires tell her she needs so dearly,
Getting rid of everything, the love within her hurting chest, so she'd eventually awaken as this distorted image of what was once pure,
Her enemies shall try to escape while observing their dying moments,
Laughing at them whilst watching how they are ruined in seconds,
Throbbing in the dark, the figure of hatred wriggles in moonlight,
Lonely the soul resented by life, keeps up her riot for once more,
In bloodlust and vengence for her own reflection cast on the water,
Deep within her, a crying, broken, yet flickering light calls for help,
If forgiveness could be served, her wounds would heal and she would be able to be herself again, free without any grief or sorrow,
Maybe then, she will even be able to feel love again.
~ Umi
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
The last judgement shall not hold mercy on the servants, but it shall not wrong them in their deeds either, it is the final decision to make,
The end of a long journey which births the desire to see you again,
Your reflection cast on a mirror in a sea of pure lunacy shall clear it all
It will open your heart and reveal all of your sinning impurities cast away by words of falsities, triggered by a simple yet small lie,
Heartfelt dream scapes shape the mirror; In a world so dark that the stars will blind ones sensitive, mortal eyes within seconds to come,
Experience of past events suspend memories from the future's dawn.
I will not show you any sad dreams, I'd like to heal your wounds if you have striven for righteousness and purity such as patience,
If you however have striven for corruption then you should know,
There's unending punishment and darkness awaiting your arrival,
Here we do have unlimitted time after all, unlimited cruelty and fear,
Love comes in misery, ends unexpectedly yet you won't see, will you?
Time ticks on, goes by and follows it's clear path in this devil's world which I am lurking over, ruling, which you have intruded tonight,
Take my hand oh all you pure souls, the love of light is for all to bear!
~ Umi
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
“We love the bunnies, for the bunnies, they hop.”
“We love them all day because they never stop,
…and we love ourselves, when we look inside;
...trapped with the bunnies on the hospital-side.”
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again
~ Umi
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
so don't change then
you seem to be perfectly comfortable
in your insanity.
wrestling, withdrawing,
anhedonia coming alive in your party
master wrangler of sorrow,
been there, done that.
and like watching
the christians and the lions,
i am rooting for you
but know you will shed blood.
and when you are devoured enough
you come to life,
crazy sonafabitch.
stay where you are then,
forget em happy pills.
i will go certifiable with you
as long as you do not forget
the lunacy of our love.
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 6:55 PM UTC
It is said that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results
Call me crazy because I will repeatedly repeat and never learn
Maybe I don't want to learn because I love the cycle of yes and no and mostly no
Even though it kills us both
We are insane because we know that it is wrong and that's the way it has to go
And yet we try, and don't try again and again
And the pen etches into the page the same stanzas
The monotony sounds like harmony
Because in our insanity we are happier and unhappier than we will ever be
I would rather die waiting for change than to be without your sweet disappointment
To relent and reclaim my sanity would be a tragedy because I would have to write new stanzas and my pen is too in love with our poetry, to welcome a new subject
For the sake of my pen (at risk of her heartbreak) I will reject the cry inside of me to run to reality
While the hurricane proves pathetic fallacy outside of our window
We breathe lunacy and embrace
Insanity
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
*I'm smiling --
but at the back of my mind...
Oh wait,
I don't have my own mind.
My sanity is replaced with lunacy.
Ecstatic.
Packs of delusional facades.
Illusions and charades.
Dreaming of nightmares within a daydream.
Detoriating senses.
*Everything started to fall apart.
I am lost for words.
For you had taken my heart,
The day you walked that direction, opposite to what i'd took.
One final look.
Without any goodbye.
I started to cry.
And cry.
Until it drowned all that was left of me--*
Your memories.
*My world crumbles.
I cannot think of any word that would best describe this feeling..
These feelings..
But I cannot contain it. Not anymore.
I cannot escape.*
*So I will just fill these pages with--
Random letters..
Doodles.
Semantics.
Figures of speech.
Metaphors and similes.
Something only your heart could understand.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Upon the shores of Malachite
Next to the cobalt seas
Under molten silver slivers of moonbeams
That shatter on the crystal icing
Covering the diamonded waterfall
By the golden sand . . .
Gather the Unicorns
Of Neptune , Uranus , and Pluto and beyond
Playfully cavorting between
Steel seas and emeralded mountains
On the frozen sands of time unchanged
For a thousand Earth's comings
But it's just a dream
A lunacy , a nothingness in the night
All my Unicorns have taken to flight
And were never there
Or were they ?
All the frozen seas . . .
Are now warm Florida Keys
Under a full August moon
And all the mountains . . .
Are impossible fears
That have faded into prairies
Swelling like seas
And there are no proof prints
In the sands of time
Of a far away race
Frozen in time
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
i tried to stay true to the unity
tuned to every opportunity
i found my ruins in the mutiny
loose stone of the community
such a crude and brutal fluency
the futile fruits of lunacy
the pulled roots of my truancy
grew away from my community
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
I see a flash
A sight to behold
The work of an immortal sculptor
Walking straight in elegant pride
Worth of a princess of the sun
Firmly transfixed in her twelve
Moving into the emptiness of an invalid society
Her innocence screaming
In an unchallenged clarity
And only twelve moons
The framework of her modeling salivates
Wolves in men
Who’s been exposed to the virus
Emerging from the bush land of their desires
To seek their vengeance in a fanatical hatred
And poor me the princess
With the *** lunacy roaming the streets,
Sanity of abstinence is the greatest challenge.
Swung from poverty to adolescence
A pendulum of fates
Hunger at home for the family
And her homestead a moonscape of desolation
The two hundred shillings does the trick
She trades out her innocence
And virginity too; a girls pride
And alongside the legal tender
Comes the virus
The minute monster
Savoring a society of huge minds.
There is the tuberculosis
In a hospital ward
Full of undug graves and shrines unnamed.
Drawn into the vacuum of her fate
Eyes wide open in dismal finality
The princess
Lie in freeze frame of death
A pyramid of events
Molded out of her last several terrible seconds
Lamentation for the society
A dull eulogy for our girls.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:19 AM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Dreary of a dark empty space,
The loneliness crowded,
Which somewhat I called—
"A Place Unwanted."
To them may it be madness:
A pretense of his suffering,
His mindful selfishness.
But not how I would label me.
To be covered in lunacy:
Lies coming from about,
Changing colors and theme,
Wading of goodness.
Their ways of hypocrisy.
I was a sea of countless woe,
To be brave but unsure.
Am I ever safe, if I never show?
The gaiety beyond avenue,
Through under glass I look.
The joy fits for most,
But not a dream to be oath.
Overtaking my inmost true,—
These things behind the sun.
What I should walk away from,
But it could never be done.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
There came quiet
the colors of your cinnamon skin,
its taste, persimmon
spread in red syllables
and quicksilver spills
in the folds of this tickled silence,
Laden with prophesy
the white thought of love
leaps through the tamarack pastures,
suet to the shadows of dahlias, flesh
you say, is water
and its symmetry, a penetrating
sound of pure ebullience,
Love, in the pale baton of light
you coax from cognac eyes,
open my veins to every thorn in the garden,
rumors of rain,
say nothing and endure,
Spread over panes of glass
where butterflies drown
in the sweat of our charms
and moths drop from the true color of lunacy,
cold depths lapse softly into my flesh,
I hurt, in that quiet shatter of light,
and from moth-eaten thighs
you soak the ****** of earth
with velvet tears and lavender,
spread its dark balsam to quell the quick faith
with sighs, as reluctantly,
the soul speaks what the body has written,
and gives-in to its asylum....
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
I see a flash
A sight to behold
The work of an immortal sculptor
Walking straight in elegant pride
Worth of a princess of the sun
Firmly transfixed in her twelve
Moving into the emptiness of an Invalid society
Her innocence screaming
In an unchallenged clarity
And only twelve moons
The framework of her modelling salivates
Wolves in men
Who's been exposed to the virus
Emerging from the bushland of their desires
To seek their vengeance in a fanatical hatred
And poor me the Princess
With the *** Lunacy roaming the streets
Sanity of abstinence is the greatest challenge.
Swung from poverty to adolescence
A pendulum of fates
Hunger at home for the family
And her homestead a moonscape of desolation.
The two Hundred shillings does the trick
She trades out her innocence
And virginity too- a girl's pride
And alongside the legal tender comes the virus
The minute Monster
Savoring a society of huge minds.
There is the tuberculosis
In a hospital ward
Full of undug graves and shrines unnamed
Drawn into the vacuum of her fate
Eyes wide open in dismal finality
The princess
Lie in freeze frame of death
A pyramid of events
Molded out of her last several terrible seconds
Lamentation for the society
A dull eulogy
For our girls.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
there's a monster in me.
it keeps whispering things. so loud. that my mind could burst anytime soon.
inhabit, control, taking over; messing me up inside.
oh mama, i must obey it,
the one i shouldn't commit.
oh mama, how could i live?
in a body i cannot forgive.
please mama, bring some water; pour me the rain, a very heavy rain.
embrace me, hug me, drown me—wiped it all the monster away,
i don't think i could find any other way.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC