Autography in BloomA Poem by PerditionTitle still a wipThere is a wound I fear Following me I hear its cold infant feet Niggling Like the grey backdrop of an atomic haikus In the lightest of lip I deem it Familia Innate in deed and shouldered In the shadowy bluffs of The delicate eye Whittling the draconian ode paralysis It profits my soul This autography in bloom Burgeoned from some past life meditation Innocently rumbling In the beard of my garden Released to Pluck the answers from The burial sites of my rheumatoid cataract god Scribbling anti-seed absolutions and slow weightless glissading’s This wound at the door of Ancient humanity It crawls and blends Exposing the fleshy agenda in green flashes of pain I watch it circling high over my bed Howling with fever In visceral dream High over my armful of wrist and Pleading mental canopy Its eyes leak a slow sandy message Dripping Into the hall beneath the stairs where it slowly ascends And I begin Where I sneer this daily interview Indifferently Amused But still I am followed Though I never venture far Just far enough to see it in my own affliction Far enough to know that this is indeed a wound Open to all… Shy negotiation © 2015 PerditionReviews
|
Stats
606 Views
3 Reviews Added on December 31, 2014 Last Updated on January 1, 2015 |

Flag Writing