precious sister…
the journey cracks
grand science, now able,
functions beautifully
that dreaming noodle
rears the head
flailing blows
and the sudden,
hard obeisance
sleeping through those
sweet rituals,
falling tiger
wags an
accusatory finger
consumer of logical winds
a simpleton’s vanity
peculiarity of the weather
doctor points his caduceus:
inside becometh out,
yea, verily
let us worship the
revolver medicine
as to movement,
these are but hard woman
promises
death, a reluctant song,
now tumbling into
guilt-ridden odyssey
careless waves of infinite days
armies of unrelenting dawns,
one upon another,
each
weaker
than brother
any here, for i, is her
a hopeless moonlight crumbles
her covers burn the sleepless skin
granting every excuse for you
to slip outside
into the pisces pool of
what is not yours
escape from the mouth
of rendering
emptiness
find me
in that dark place
or find something else,
whatever
works
at least there is always the
faint, corduroy comfort
of believing
that the sullen orb
listens
we hold no such
hopeful vigils
for our dear, sweet sister
of vacancy
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
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Kevin Trent Boswell 