Lilt unto the newest drop of
dew, or the cutthroat crest of
each stroke, every sigh, or
sight, diluted by substance
unknown and familiar still
Breathe sunken fumes into my
greyest thought, so I may
always be perceived as a
scaffold, a squeaky splint, or an
ever-loving sister to bendable art
We believe in the power of magma
magnified and multiplying in
secret, scuttling beneath the
starriest twilight and unsettled
day, ridden with fears unseen,
mottled with this moment's greed
You kill companions fraught with
joy, trumpeting their thoughts
on a windy day in the park where
proper nouns are gone away and
typos bark with creativity in
spite of every vicious warning
3 September 2009
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