Electronics
ring the wake.
Methods to the chaos,ideation in red,
beneath the ground,
sexual,
like Mishima's Mustang.
The people.
The noise.
Inhale deeply,
to the end of the earth;
crawl
across nails and needles.
Storms,
gentle violence.
Heart of the world,
the word,
hanging, descending;
let it land.
Heroes of isolation
crowd together,
pallbearing
the last sweeter self.
Never was I
more alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment