that drains the blood
from sleepy eyelids
and masks the
rotten suggestions from
pleading fingers of
all the junkies left
with nothing to do
but lie for spare change.

Young minds
broken yet malleable, unlike
brittle glass, can be re-jigsawed

Maybe I'm just tired of
trying to dissolve
crushed glass in water.

It will not taste sweet
as it lacerates your larynx
and refuses to be transformed
hear this you tasty morsels of
forgotten fruit, forbidding
that your skin be broken by
virgin teeth and
your juicy flesh, oozing
flavouring from their
exotic entrapment.

That in the unconscious memory
as a dust lined ornament,
but breathing, wait:

wait for nothing but to be desired
and burning lustful eyes will
strip your dust clothes and
greet your exposed beauty.

You, though beautiful,
are not the meaning of life.

Greater love than
physical union of
delighting personality

And this existence predicates
priority upon its
perforated limbs;

renewed more solid than
impenetrable matter,

a new process of considering
every decision as
definitely its own gravely voice...
and likewise, desires; subject to change.

Mirrors of want, distorting
over centuries of
standing upright,
skin hangs from the jawline
of innocence beneath.

And desires outlasting
pigmentation of youth,
subject to change,
beyond aesthetics;
beyond urgency;
and beyond
the descriptions of impatient demands.

Written: mid June 2011.


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