Sunday, December 14, 2008

Christendom (In Mid-Strike)


One incisive rainbow, ugly, perilous,
Drips faucet-like in a storm when
All the fresh dirt wafts like blood
And seeps through the curtains.
Yellow, as irritated mice, they live
A life apart.
I once saw his cynicism move
From his mouth, in slow ringlets.

One might compare his breath to
Current en automne dans la pluit.
My own brutality hath erased my
Claws, for from a higher hill did I

Laiden with guilt armor, m’lord,
For last was he seen setting
The heavens, in shadow, too.


Fiery pith doth exude from me
Palms, a tricky weed ‘s grown.
Shorely the gardna would pluck
up the grass from under its iron

Like the patchy locks on a bear,
His buttery smile.
  Blades upon
Blades upon Blades.


I myself, in a sea-worthy echo
Might like to drown a bit of salt,
A pity that. 


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