here on
the moor,
in
the swamp,
and in
the city.here, is everywhere
on the right day
when feeling the right way
and i
seespindly,
spiky
spi
ders and
wafting,
wayfaring
wi
sps and
slinky,
slurpy
sha
dows.they're all here.
and those are just the loud ones.there's a doll here, but she hasn't got a name.
too strange to have a name.
she won't be quiet,
she won't speak.
she won't stop looking at me.and all the while the saving grace is on an island,
saying that i was never cut out to be a savior.the mind is not a wonderful place
once you've worn out your welcome.just ask alice.
or me. but i've never been alice.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.