| blood agar echoes are chancing blows off the steep valley walls your lips mimicked by the scarlet in the sinewy sundown, carving great crimson arcs across the path of the moon was happenstance enough to satisfy did charity lift its sorrows long enough to walk proudly by did this life offer what was demanded of it and who�who, by ice, by wind, by power of desire � the crippling thrashing of desire � its death throes echoing off the steep valley walls, divided and ricocheting as in prism of sound, in prison of spent alacrity, folded hands and self-loathing meditating undisturbed for aeons a trick of the light; a turn of the key, the otherworldly epic broken into disconsolance, foundations laid ably by introspective ghosts precious little time for obscure likenesses, in another age, another state of disenfranchised delectory � where desire waits, in hiding, but escapes detection � this pale exposed bulb a harbinger of less enviable tasks, misappropriated hope & lost time, there�s no time to lose, you know there was never a time to greet the end and sigh lightly, contemplatively, at the bitter end of a knowing smile, in fields of gold glowing still in the moonlight out beyond the reach of the stars. (c) 2002 troubled phantom publishing onward backward |
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