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
No comments:
Post a Comment