Friday, November 5, 2010

046: Torn

Extract the truth,
like a tooth
- a fire lash
the horizon -
and drive the sword,
though the sea boils
with icebergs
The house I built
with sprinkles
of heaven
and pockets of forever,
between subway stations,
insane with wine,
drunk with madness,
at the seams.
My harbor
from atom storms,
forgive me,
as my days
are links
of bronze chains;
in the quicksand,
these astral rooms
have everything but doors.
A blessed life,
my heart's tempest,
the dream tempted
to compress infinity
in single
and no beacon
in the distance.
Slaving in freedom,
burning in thirst,
a vice of the soul -
I still shun this cup;
I know not;
I deny;
unkempt, unquenched,
mirror nemesis.