~night-Mares Ride~
There the moon suckled on a dram of mist,
bringing illustrious pomp to cardboard mountains,
who cut like a sickle, horizons sincerity,
and I could taste trouble, spoon fed
from darkness that sprinted towards completion.
Something crawled from the canal,
a gaseous presence like a primordial phantom;
opalescence in peek-a-boo stars.
Incantations stirred in the attic of my mind,
spectres of remembrance copulating
in karma sutra melee,
and the night, so coffin quiet,
swallowing moon dust in a cascade of neon pollen.
What resilience could sate this voluptuous whore,
who cooed like a dove while twisting
the garrot ever tighter,
nothing but the birth of dawn.
Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2008
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