Sunday, October 17, 2010


I would not follow me
Into the darkness
Where the footsteps trail off
And you lose earshot
Where I am so comfortable

as we cultivate humanity
importance is lost
for something like me
in the danse macabre
of your yearning eyes

I lurk in this scarecrow
Waiting for the black birds
That come to blather
Holding my hand to the sky
Anticipating the lightning

I am sure that we all hear the voices
Of the who and what to be
The whispers in the blue hour
Tell me everything I need
Inviting the strike of soft lips

Learning from the Ricinus
In the dirge of the lions  
Toccata, written in blood
you will find my thirst for
manifestations of power


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