A liquid blue bench and the street neon kissing its neck
An invertebrate elegance snow-printed crawling along
An audio memory unspooled, fingers unwinding the reel
All that is spun have heard the howling of the moon
Easy like a divine train into the hungry lair
A neurosis, is wanted, like brazen warmth in ferocious cold
And poets fall like drops of salvation from the anxious air
Like brown beans under the white, limbs throb for mollusk
2 comments:
Great snippets of surreal images that come and go at a liquid pace.What lies beneath is a deeper and more intense proposition.
beautiful craftsmanship. its a world of the thoughtful built on the strngth of words.
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