A Slice of Lemon
The plaguing tictocs, of the grandfather clockProduces an electric current upon my skinAwakening cobwebs in my mind like a frockThe horrific chagrin begs the question of sinA subtle distinction mid death and extinctionNot entitled to a timely refund by the kinetic forceA fiery necklace swings upon this skeletal fictionI did refuse the hole, by heralding a sharpened torseAre the moments, beyond this grave season,dreamt of in terrific lucidity,bobbling plum sensesOh the howling of the bawbling ratty eyed demonPeace is divided,as the gathering pain intensesAngular resolutions, well up on pivoting emotions,cutting deeply across time and space saddling,the age old answers of equal but swinging notionsShuddering leathery ribbons, as deaths door is rattlingA sharp Hispanic nard tortures the flaring nostrilsAwaking fatigued, in the hall of ill-reputed womenPraising an opiated green fairy, under doomsday’s till
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2017
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