Short Welds Poems

pact fusion hath brewed
welds cauldron spewed spit fiery
sparse talents biformed renowned
oddity affair
ardent youth pose statuesque
fragile innards touch grotesque
bursts end aggression
severs espousal rapport
guilt aspires realist soars...

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Lips are just a touch
But a touch in every way
It's this touch that touches most
That entices this touch to say

This touch even makes our eyes
Magnetic touch, though no metal shows
For it welds this magnetic touch
From this touch, life can grow


*~*




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Far from the norm
spaced by degrees of
subhuman dignity.
Immoral vibes
that reverberate
throughout human history.
Underneath the fabric 
attached to bone throughout
holding intact the moral fiber
that defines the human race.
The sinful nature that defines
and consequently binds us
rips us assunder and welds to our soul.
For chaos is our twin brother from birth....

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It's hell trying to think,
the welds do distract.
As the train travels over the seams of it's track.

In my head Howard swears, that he'll never be back!
My eyes follow a vagrant,
seeking the change that he lacks.

Another desperate attempt,
at another desperate attempt.
To save another days worth of memories,
I'll never get back.

I'm not too sure if I want them.
But I'm scared to forget,
so I pressure my pen,
to avoid the regret.

Thursday on the Bloor line...

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