Tuesday, November 9, 2010


Grinding in the rusted old gears
When they snap into release
machine lurching forward
Igniting the innermost  caprice
To extinguish all those forgotten tears

As we appropriate the meshing inner accord
Surely it can Fuse into something
More or less what’s calling
Though it’s not what I was hunting
 With this deficient prize I can easily afford

The lights fled outwardly sprawling
For the decadent dance
of the phantom
in their absent trance
their dreams remained falling

although their hands traversed the chasm
their human form spelled ire
in the tide of exhaust
the gargoyles upon the pyre  
vapid voyeur s enraptured in tantrum

where the currency of the day is the accost
the rabid mind will have to rely
hoping  that more appears
behind the fantastical wandering eye
the fourth dimension of where our lives crossed

No comments:

Post a Comment