a flash of peace

even when the soul bleeds rot,

and the mind becomes a blackhole,

 

a breath of night jasmine

buries stinking dead moments

in the fragrant living layers

of my internal timepiece,

like a sip of homemade wine

dilutes an ocean

of manufactured tears,

or a single eye twinkle

lights the gaping darkness

between Fine and Fucked.

 

the Truth is always

a tiny flicker

defying the giant

haunted forest

that conceals it,

refusing to be quelled,

living on crumbs and fumes

until the right wind blows,

and sets the entire

dishonest world aflame.

 

 

Reviews

[EMF]

Bugger me.... No. Don't. Just a matter of speech. Chuff me.... No. That one's just as bad....Eh... Strap... No. Fuc...Nope. Alright. I was as impressed as it gets. Is it truth? Is it Beauty? Is it art. Who gives a s**t. It's exceptional poetry that grabs you by the bollocks and twists, just to get your attention, then headbuts the bridge of the nose until you feel it bury its way into your brain. Superb work.

[Divinity Sleeps in This]

William Blake meet Dylan Thomas, oh quite right Mr. Lion, this is how a master speaks.