Bent._//
January 15, 2011
The flooded tiles are thankfully cold
Caustic, glossed and cleansed.
The wiser speaks a kindred celt
yet chokes a magnet to a tree.
How is it that I do pay tribute to composition
then morph into a puddle ‘neath a skyscraper-
Donning glasses side a flute of wine
Clenching gold in my fists
Crafting movement on mute;
Whilst crooning best as birds-
How then, is it aimed- a fondness
Is faux, in flight I’ve slipped and knelt
In synapse withered salted wet-
Define a citrus mood with pleasure-
Our
slumber seldom meets the dawn; nor should it
For sleep only signs a blank mind in awe.
They’ve proven from crib to crane, chosen struggles.
You, a wretched pool of muse
Leak above my daily cup of coffee.
It’s impossible to elude you.
Those queries do shine
I strip lips to pores, then inch the ledge.
Those fifty foot walls quench my thrill;
I’ve startled, knocked, wedged and frozen.
Awaiting a sign of soul to key;
access is bent.
A selfish illusion can stress a fraction
Critically;
Bent.
(Insult)&#
January 15, 2011
An insult bites fragrance from a fall sky;
it harms;
it scrapes,
and unveils
a moulded thought progression
that shalln’t be hindered by humour.
Likewise,
truth is unearthed
and sensical wit
cannot bury such a defined treasure.
Your tongue: a soft and supple force
has shocked and strained those roots.
the squares to swear I’d bluntly doubt
would cleanly perservere.
A looking glass will need to be the source of light,
for distant winds will shred the sails we’ve sewn in sight.
Tea _()
February 16, 2010
Forgive the efforts of the spout,
The flame forgave the truth your hand bestowed.
Plucked from causes, short of distance, fingers bloomed.
Systolic strings did suit you well, the sickness of disease.
A cure should come while ripened vines do weep, for lack of bright response.
Bared shoulders, from closets to linoleum, shout.
Each blanket sewn to cover the sound, commence.
They declare I untie doors with sound, with language,
With snaps of chilly faces flown beneath neon lamps
to fasten your eyes,
contain each nerve for verdict; land.
Emptiness becomes the beam of steam,
When tea should have been pleasant.
The -Ride-
November 4, 2009
Ignition.
Rumble you may, for bleaching the moon hath no descent.
Summarize, plant, and treat- devote, the will unties your shoes.
I plaid your song, square by square; mount by mound.
A twist of orange and yarn through bead, begotten.
The felt is form through softened pace, of love forlorn through blue.
Acceleration.
Toe tap fingers to water, chlorine edges cut thin.
The throat of indecent intolerance, swells infectious of it.
The Gem of an emerald, defeating a stone, slices the diamonds.
Stuck with a pin.
Lighting picks the harps of sin and bliss, o music tires the feet of treason.
This love, that is felt so full as my hope amongst defeat…
Shall die with grass, then sun, then fire.
Stop.
lightleakpoetry
