Anacreon’s Place

tired anxieties fleshed forth the
broken table, chained the rotten
flame grid; Eucharistic sun for everyone
I disbelieved but was drawn by the gravity

shearing excuse from the linen folds
tabulating the requirements
of atom load to leech
bloated frogs on the
pond -
us one whether we realize it
or not -
golden scintillant dream shrouds 
lurch to life cast from the waves
by an unseen hand, or is it the sky?

This entry was posted on Monday, June 22nd, 2009 at 4:38 pm and is filed under spunk. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.