The Mount
whitecaps
touch salt left behind
a monstrosity
revealing damage that once was
fumes engulf the tips of the city
surrounded by upward needles
they bleed sugar
sweet as morning dew
Inevitable
It leaves behind
a trail of murals
which speak in foreign tongues
wreaking havoc on our ancestor
in fields of mist
where the trajectory broken
disappears in the wake of
a sudden breakpoint
that hinders lepers’ lame
chiding in front of coliseums
and breaking bread with the enemy
then Death unmasks
and devours the living
Can of Worms
Who the @#* cares about the night
we snuck out and stepped on bile
only to be chased by dogs?
Or that I touched his bearded chest
and let him in my wayward life again
just to shriek of joy?
And when the train left us stranded
in the middle of nowhere city
just to find time to cry for half-breeds
fronting their last public display
that sliced our fear in half
only to escape through cracks in the wall?
Or that tomorrow is another tedious journey
into my dreaded existence
that steers from indiscretion?
And if having toes that don’t match
or fit any shoes
just to limp and play in the grass
after the ring fell down the sink
only to clog it and have it burst
just so he gets a chance to test
his newfound knowledge of dismantling things?
Who the @#* cares that this is too long?
It’s just another meltdown of mind crap
put together to stop the senses.
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