Saturday, April 16, 2016

You're Gorgeous, But Can You Translate?

Sometimes you fall into a deep hole swirling of susurration
Pulling you below as the robin drawn to a writhing worm
No emergency cable to insure your speedy recovery
Plunging beyond the sixty-first minute of the twenty-fifth hour
Uncharted edge of reason wrapping around itself
Warped and shattered the universe divided
Perpetually splitting the inexhaustible sequence

A syndicate to misery with the finest artillery
Left to ponder the metallic flood in your throat
All havoc tastes the same when your tongue is missing
The rising tide on the sanguine sea lifts your hope
To be the last man on Earth without any rope
But plenty of branches from which to swing

Flickers of bronze scattering the late day sun
Flat on your back with nowhere to run
The line between worlds concealed to most
"Hey, great impression of a minefield ghost!"
And there at the bottom you can't seem to recall
Dusk relieves the burden of the incalculable fall

Turn out the light when you leave
Time to go to sleep

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