Spike
You have left me
to self-inflicted self-pity,
impasse of the atoms
cleaved asunder in the thalamus.
Seismic thermology, the scorch
of Tempus fever,
hacked clinic of the circuitry,
bypass of the thirsting valve.
To that which I aspire,
bitten copper of the stripping wire,
sick telegraph doves keel,
falling dead, snowdrops on asphalt.
You have left me
in this cage of dogs,
abandoned with the temporal spike
that spears and gores the
hounds of love to
bloodied, gestalt death...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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