{ah, oh icy wind its
the breath of god}
illusions lens- a carnival
of mature parading youth.
here we go again.
hard-hitting,
the bruising, flowering, numbness
more of a rush than the
angel-dust scattering these
blacklight deluded
galaxy painted
walls.
speed of sound; breaking a
barrier {thick, skulls of the young}
take a number, ask a
question; sip on champagne
in a fairy-light vanilla night foyer,
or take up with us
on gasoline and devils blood
in the dead of early lives.
YOU ARE READING
NEW HEARTS & COLD SEAS
Poetrywhen they seek you out because they know they can, because they know they can get away with it - anonymity is your friend.
