WINE AND GATES

A Flaming House Withheld From Ashes

portrait of any
a dead man with a book on blood
the fashion of misery, in my many
this old wage for the moon, the sound of a dragon...

tomorrow was my home
the roses for tea, the toes for reasons
the miracle of need in my atone
the pyre of could, aptly named seasons

think
the ruse of wishes in my strange walk with a levity
the ires of missions and their passions to ...
thought the truth, the tooth of came in my savagery

vague lips of choice, to be found in the curious air
about the notion of misery, you are the turn of good gain
made from the kind of nearness we adore, the cherub
is your friend, the mint of reasons and a vain...

serpents with a furious eye, for examination
the rue of comment, to garner the guarantee of rain
maybe the cold course of such, we expected from our skin
maybe the canny courage of substance to know, ways...

poison to posses, the now and the hounding of the sun
the wish in the reality of issues of the wind
is our fate of a considered lip, the need of more cunning
by the very sight of our misery, the liberty to defend

way off in the distance, the moon knows
teeth and truth in a running sense, for swords is the conscience
of a logic in girded hands, the future he owes
all in alien ways, the time of a prescience...


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A Flaming House Withheld From Ashes

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