Wednesday, April 15, 2009


You are a poem with
a mouth full of sand.

Blexel Skimpolonius,
you plodded rezel,
I'm a lurch n scaffold
near your hurt.

Intall stretch n stretch,
but hush n posals
bode no good.
Weezall fried,
allied to smoke and fire tongs.

Soft n soft n cushy velve
heart n swells
a link to morphy
us'n dwells.

We sweet suckling, burn
within the belly brown,
the earth,
and hold.

A metal orchid opens claws
and blooms the scarlet phrase
of hell.


Blogger Chris Never said...

The Jabberwocky comes to mind with this

I am very partial to a podded rezel by the way

The ending is not so in keeping with the rest, deliberate?

4:37 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

mmm, I'm not sure.

I don't know where the hell this came from. It just tumbled out yesterday morning.
It makes a sort of sense to me, but you have to read it aloud I think.
The ending was an image I saw yesterday in a video. I dunno, I think the ending has to give some sort of a leg into the poem.

4:42 PM  

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