pre-dawn relics
wearethis
3am
in the words flowing in the gloam of angels robes hanging
in the air just over my bed
in the exstatic moans of everyday penetration
in chinese coin token worth something to no one but the owner as it is quite different from the everyday shake of his american pocket change
some days i'll masturbate
three
or
four
times thinking what if i die tonite singing hymns while i'm pulling at it to make sure i'll be alright
allright
post war pieces
blasted bits of alabaster
wearethis
santa doesn't stop
but flies faster over the third world
Copyright 2003 Fish
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/51/22923 on Friday September 05th, 2008 10:42 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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