I've seen the cogs squeeze your molten thoughts, they've now hardened and caked on the floor. We've seen gears and conveyer belts a catalytic ready for wars, spastic and ready to fire.We've welded and wedded and whined and dined on the wisp of steam and desserts for smoke, deserted buildings that were shingeless, and timeless classic tastes—I know I know I know of synesthesia that comes with the color red, of the scarlet tastes that lies upon humankind's breast. We've been seeing sparks when we stand up to fast, they dance around like the veins they are
I've seen the cogs and the wires of our mannequin desires, and I—as a lowly umpire—seen the pyres and pyres and pyres of molten and the molten-empire.
Divulge a secret and tell me of your molten thoughts, it seething my brain. Pour silver in my hair and call me wise like Solomon with eyes a step less than the blight of Mitus, renew, renew and mold and purify
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Nuance. (Stream of Conscious Poems Updated Weekly)
PoetryA bunch of rants and raves. Poems. Poetry. Alot having to deal with denial/acceptance of some sort.
