Lies disperse themselves about me
uperturbed and doubtfully
encroaching upon my history
Strangers hack them down
for shoots of blue to bleed
up, down, left, right then drown
A sword to hone from ink
grasshoppers thoughts to think
in an endless reflection of a King
Yet the heart disease
causes swordsmen to sink
with no beer or winks to please
27 October 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment