Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Miracles make me sick
My words are honey,
Thick and sticky,
Sweet and see through.
Take it with a grain of salt.
When I mourn, inchoate thoughts
Fall like a plague upon the masses.
Forlorn and looking
Meaning under rocks, I find only
The maggots that entertain the dirt,
Positioning themselves to change
From ugly to annoying.
The waxing moon so bright,
I get the courage to bid farewell
The old haunts that dirty up my vision.
10-27-10
Thick and sticky,
Sweet and see through.
Take it with a grain of salt.
When I mourn, inchoate thoughts
Fall like a plague upon the masses.
Forlorn and looking
Meaning under rocks, I find only
The maggots that entertain the dirt,
Positioning themselves to change
From ugly to annoying.
The waxing moon so bright,
I get the courage to bid farewell
The old haunts that dirty up my vision.
10-27-10
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Miracles make me sick
Miracles make me sick
