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H. E. Riddleton Poem
Above and below, the masochist show
Their tangled dread and frantic glow
Of faces abhorred by the overhead.
They stitch their lips and begin again.
In catacomb dream, they march and throw
Up their hands for torture to blow
Through their incarnates, their pigments that grow
When shrines of men are slaughtered instead,
Above and below.
The carrier shows as her massacre slows
What little is left, the Masters do flow-
Mourn thy Driver, enslave the wind
For when ancestors tumble back again.
Dior the evil, we may know,
Above and below.
Copyright © H. E. Riddleton | Year Posted 2015
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H. E. Riddleton Poem
Retrograde- Sky Demon-
As the liquor protrudes fresh
In my capsule cabriolet
Near the mildew of my flesh.
Copyright © H. E. Riddleton | Year Posted 2015
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H. E. Riddleton Poem
There is a high block,
A bending vanity,
As I splurge in the cellular
Dysfunction of the disapproved.
Assemble me, my parts swift up
Like a robotic tendency,
And I cast asleep
The sorrow of my disposition.
I am a channel,
A bolted up medium
And I can swallow little a ghoul more
Than the intake of my discharge.
Sip me down,
I, supple dilettante,
In the shrew confuse
Of remedy’s dawn.
August 2015
Copyright © H. E. Riddleton | Year Posted 2015
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H. E. Riddleton Poem
I have tried
In all my tip toes
And slaughter gangs
Of my previous presence
To saunter the solemn strings
Of sincerity; without, of course,
The intrusion of my tongue.
August 26, 2015
Copyright © H. E. Riddleton | Year Posted 2015
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