Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Away 3 (10.12.10)

Virgins they
Maturation lost at sea
Sand between
Under each
Over two

Peninsula to populate
Isle of the idle minds
Sharpened sticks and rounded rocks
Telling of better time
Educate and procreate

Neath our head
Nothing like bread
Poor excuse for substance
Something less than barely

Inanimate flesh
A landing strip for flies
Treasures in them

Smoke could not hide their sins
The adults never learned to wade or swim or look


Past the paling
Peelings of our organs
Trailings of our inners
Path for the preachers to cannibalize their members
Our ancestors invite chosen us for dinner

Tides that tell lies
Across the waves she waits
An innocent mother
Yet this shall be her fate

Hideaway the records
Burning journals
Tearing diaries in five
So nobody noses around our sphere
This liberty we found
Has killed the offspring
Slain the future
Ruined us

Pass away

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