Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Book Burnings
I lack the clammy calm of lilac dreams.
I pack away the icy tendrils of panic left
Looming over my tender skull.
In the winter, I bloom like a demon seed,
My palms sweaty with excitement,
Creating my jail out of vines and repentance.
The milk of satisfaction leaks when
I think of veins no longer connected,
Blood that no longer mambo's in my body but
Leeches loyally to the linoleum.
When these opal eyes awaken, my options are
No longer of mall like proportions.
I am at a burning, I am merely a book too naughty to read.
1-6-11
I pack away the icy tendrils of panic left
Looming over my tender skull.
In the winter, I bloom like a demon seed,
My palms sweaty with excitement,
Creating my jail out of vines and repentance.
The milk of satisfaction leaks when
I think of veins no longer connected,
Blood that no longer mambo's in my body but
Leeches loyally to the linoleum.
When these opal eyes awaken, my options are
No longer of mall like proportions.
I am at a burning, I am merely a book too naughty to read.
1-6-11
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Book Burnings
Book Burnings
