Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Covers (10.20.10)

Suppose this handle
found its way
past script of all the downing fog

entered the tomb
of Prince Forol
and slipped beneath his skull
a piece to grip while he all sleep ventures through the gate of ore
sparkling dull
kerosine to fuel this dream
a path to burn footsteps of redeeming value

gentle in this first intake
a partial problem
a hemorrhage
falling like rocks cast down from the heavens
where goddesses watch their spouses in a righteous envy

take not a ponder session from my house
leave me be
leave the treasure you though was not
for now it belongs and takes root
underneath my bed
Usually my head

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