Posted by: scintillatingspeck | October 29, 2013


wandering the aetheric atmosphere,
rarefied, sere,
the clerestory ballooning
with anaesthetic thought-clouds

a body could, does,
get left behind
in intricate cathedrals of mind,
the apse of fantasy

these hands were born
to squeeze the juice
of lemons,
to loosen the shackles
of reason,
to caress the nape
of love

on the ground, corporeal,
clasped over my middle,
holding the viscera of my only life,
I could howl my guts out
but it takes guts
to live.



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