Saturday, September 13, 2008

Pilots Commendeer this Porcupine's Hide

If only you could see the rains I'm in
we would surely happen in flashes along the blackened skin
conjured among the shades jaded picket fences
postered boardwalks / mouthed planks shapes vowels
begging a shape not unlike that of a melting angel
whispers ash and the bone of a tail
beckoned by the lord our god
shadows temporarily scathed he points his finger at me
for the lake she slew you denied an ocean that grew
from mud she gestated forlorn and conscious obseletes
for we are sinful men pricked by atmospheres conquistador
your time is that of burnt paper blown from seeds and across the seas
well let me say that this crusade does not befit such a man as this
prove me wrong in speech like this
never has god heard a man speak like this before

he points his finger at me

my son take a grasp of my pockets to bequeath over days
and the skies took place on cached jaws packed with sulfur
that cried just the same as when she turned her head from
me in the flash squeezed sent slivers of bone bled rain
and I died that day in saturation sent fragments
though these quills harbor addiction this is not a poison that I can any longer use
after all this I feel like there is something so much more to lose

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