Saturday, 1 February 2014

The Sword Of Lucretia

Eventually...
...
The Lost Horizon's DownSide Be Righted UpWards,
From The Howling GraveYards Of Rusting Ships And DriftWood,
A Solitude Amongst Rats To Be In The Short End For Hustlers,
No Acquiescence To Complete A Swim To Rapture's Perturbation,
Only Phantom'd Approach From The Angle Of Decay,
As Survivors Excavate From Memory To Scavenge And ReScavenge,
From The Belly Of A Common Wealth...
...
Under Sand... To UnderStand...
...
...
And... To Cross Their Hearts,
Hopeing For The Die To Roll Face-Up On Tales,
As Coins Be As Dice... The Minutes To The Hours Be Flattened,
Laid Easy To Bury... By Last Rites Of Passage Spoken,
Where Cupping To The Heart Be Not A Matter Of Simple Chance,
No...
...
To Silence The Mouth,
The Fadeing Of The Killing Blow,
Softened By The Naked Breast...
...
Yes...
...
That Naked Truth,
See How It Engorges UpOn A Life To Bleed,
As It Feeds To The Broken To Patch Over Chasms,
Rowing The EyeLid To Stutter,
For Milk To Sculpt A Bite...
...
Saliva And Tears Switching To Drip,
To Eat AWay At Sight...
..
And Absorb InTo AbSoluteion,
All Taste To Haste Not The UnBridled Spine...
...
From Future...
...
And Fury.







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