The veins
Take over my thinking,
Sweep me away
Like dying leaves
And balled-up tissues
Issued like rations
(The old standard).
Familiarity in conformity,
The day whisked away
By the never-ending churning
Of the sea on which the serpent rides,
Waiting for the ends of days
Stitched together like rosary beads
In a never-ending spiral.
Virulent sensation
Stationed at the open doorway
Of my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment