Tuesday, 31 March 2015

nothing will stop the sinking II

the despotic salt pricks the wound
and causes the sluggish tintinnabulation
to ring interminably throughout the cavities of my head

my spit enquiringly herds all the crayons together
this also prevents
my mouth from forlorn gaping

we forget that the hispanic goat
can predict the future
aloof he crows into the night, or is it bleating?

my feet’s blithe shuffle folds meekly over
the worlds’ flushed helter-skelter
if i could but dive my awkwardness away

the billboards rush past our fanatical eyes
our pens can not keep up with
investigating the truth

the pronounced poles blink in the evening traffic
the cornucopia just keeps on increasing
and no clinging interdict will stop the cheating

the mottled wool gives a ferocious smirk
while the girl unknots it to knit a jersey for the fledgling
oh how i would like to photograph this moment

i look from a steadfast angle into the blowing wind
luckily i am snug and warm whilst my feet saunter
firmly like a ballast through the hostile exhibition called human nature

in an uproarious scraping she unearths the mole
and begs it to resume its onomatopoeic scrubbing of the flax seed
this precocious offence makes the poor mole squint even more

the methuselan droplets point in the direction of
the murky conquest
after the incandescent flare-up the wax scrounges for its last meal

she scratches her mosquito bites with an emphatic whisper
and tries hard to answer life’s questions as
the sullen enemy keeps on spreading its cold metallic forgery

please pass me a serviette
i want to wipe these scuffling nouns 
from my elliptical mouth

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