ImbecilicaA Poem by PeteThe mason asks but a narrow shelf to spring his brick from; man requires only an infinitely narrower one to spring his arch of faith from. - Thoreaucall me stupid think me cool deem me a sightless fool hurt mehurt me deeply but don't call me good in this long forgotten part of god's gated neighborhood i was your's you were mine with a trembling hand, i crossed your sign pickled and stewed with a sour brine granted, 'twas a rugged time but still it was nice when stagnant water turned into a blood-red whine 'pon an arched, aching back i painted your ceiling lacquered with tears in st. peter's contorted cathedral of bedrock and doubt with no easy way out echo me heretical thomas sprinkle me with a doubting jewel wipe away the drool hold me down in the shallow, baptismal pool plague me with a swarm of parasitica here in this, my wobbly sanctuary of imbecilica © 2021 PeteAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
96 Views
1 Review Added on February 18, 2021 Last Updated on February 19, 2021 |

Flag Writing