Tuesday, April 21, 2009



Thousands line up to mourn the slain little hospital.
There are spiritual states we must risk everyday.
My judgements don't churn heirlooms like I'd planned.

And droughts discontinue decorative housewares.
No matter, we're just illusions called a shelf.
I fall back asleep, seeking to hurry it on.

She lays beside me as does the way of extinction.
Polarity helps us enter the enemy race.
We intend peaceful invasions, but reputations always precede

Scepters planting a wheel in place of this horror.
And I'm cursed to endlessly struggle against meager spurn.
Once one evil is fooled, chaos routinely follows another.

Giblet stones hang from the shoulders of an elevator shaft.
Purified relics assembling such oppressive flesh.
I fuse genders and pretend

I too grow out of hearts, earmarked by rituals which the goat rinses.
My passwords change, my sex it erases
Vulnerable thighs licking the undying rain.

And oceans overflow with some higher purpose.
The lands sink into weak pleasures and lust.
I've forever slept, chained to sorrows beyond destruction.

No comments: