WINE AND GATES
The Baptism Of Saint Indescretion, Fogget...
time to free the pistol
from the butter, where the bread was
lips of mirror and its crystal
this worthy glory of heir's is roling in the dust
this smile, did you notice the milk of human kindness...
war's with a muse of grease, glue, and gum
that old pitch for witch is the creed of a guess
that has the world by the hungry hum
the smell of sweet and pining treacle of a jewel
breath to pie, peat moss to brine
we still believe in a quartered God, is a fish in a pool
the liberty of a stare of curiosity to quench the thine
quit smiling, the truth is in an old man's fist
the turn of murder in the life of a new one
is a courage to quiet the patience of irony's history
the quaint answer of a butterfly in mind, is all in one, a dragon
curses of this nature, are meant for the silly need of a rash wind
the tarry of skill is with us, like a lion is
the touch of hurry and the trait of wishes to curry, is still after a fashion
that much we know, that much we itch...
where were you, in the thought of time elected
for a song made, the thought to hades
where the mention of a stone is like a home erected
ready yourself for the sanity of sado - masochism?
mind the rue of a house
the total of doors and the walk of life to keep, is a rage of angels
sewing with the lurid take of sacred there in the stare of reality's mouth
is a weary echo the hero of orders of saviors of would, the right to hell?
from the butter, where the bread was
lips of mirror and its crystal
this worthy glory of heir's is roling in the dust
this smile, did you notice the milk of human kindness...
war's with a muse of grease, glue, and gum
that old pitch for witch is the creed of a guess
that has the world by the hungry hum
the smell of sweet and pining treacle of a jewel
breath to pie, peat moss to brine
we still believe in a quartered God, is a fish in a pool
the liberty of a stare of curiosity to quench the thine
quit smiling, the truth is in an old man's fist
the turn of murder in the life of a new one
is a courage to quiet the patience of irony's history
the quaint answer of a butterfly in mind, is all in one, a dragon
curses of this nature, are meant for the silly need of a rash wind
the tarry of skill is with us, like a lion is
the touch of hurry and the trait of wishes to curry, is still after a fashion
that much we know, that much we itch...
where were you, in the thought of time elected
for a song made, the thought to hades
where the mention of a stone is like a home erected
ready yourself for the sanity of sado - masochism?
mind the rue of a house
the total of doors and the walk of life to keep, is a rage of angels
sewing with the lurid take of sacred there in the stare of reality's mouth
is a weary echo the hero of orders of saviors of would, the right to hell?
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The Baptism Of Saint Indescretion, Fogget...
The Baptism Of Saint Indescretion, Fogget...
