Sharper than a Turner that’s been rolled into a point, drizzled with lemon juice and poked in my eye.
I revel in the magic of fertility.
No ruby unwashed, nor coeur unquashed.
Could this lady so become.
No text unwrit,or parlnce spit.
Could thus my darling see by sun.
A dancing child, some vision guiled
No rain, no sea no liver biled.
These children should be seen and
“out damn spot!”
be out and banished.
The qualms and queries
shall be banished.
A grimoire, tome, this
dead sea scroll…
the world, unabated.
All do yield.
This sword of iron
I chance the field.
Eyes of fire, tears of
A swirling spear a whirling mace
Sweet, sweet silence.
My stab destroys you,
I am your deception.
A strand of hair swings before my eyes.
Blonde, like the sand of a barren beach.
Bones of the world’s history scatter-
themselves at the tideline.
A breath, haggard.
Ruined lungs screech.
These bloodshot eyes
search for a ruin.
A ruin both known and lost.
The decrepit crenellations of my own spirit.
In the distance a hazed horizon.
A shape can be made out.
Jagged, cruel, despairing.
But made to be repaired.
This broken stone, a standing tower.
This shattered glass, a gloaming star.
The broken was once whole,
and can be again.
My rumbling chest.
Slam, sickness, feeling,
rocks off poetry.
talk and talk and talk and fear.
and shameless sex is sex as sex.
(zucchini and speed) – yes he’s looking back.
Future regrets! Looking forward, that’s easy.
What would happen if university was free?
Have I read that book in the future?