should silence sing
no offering for spirits of the dammed.
one drip of love
above beyond tranquillity of dust.
no thrust of demon walking trails through avenues with spade
to dig and glide four feathers to the bridge of accolade;
an acoustic sound astounded all who watch
a wishbone born and bred, as pure as ice
of mice and men
where elbows of the heart
disembark this climate to the small change of alert;
to the forest with no eyes
a skins disguise the flirting finger points
as far as north is bland and obvious;
no time to die
too busy in the slip-stream of attire;
desire lives and breeds as time betrays
it\'s days of seven dressed as green malaise;
make famous as an early worm of stout
and I will march through March
drink late the hours past a midnight slouch;
my bending spine
tells me hours now grow shorter than a breath
that suckles on the breast I once obsessed;
my mother of all orphans such as I;
her swinging cord of afterglow
glows silent as the moss of heaven grows
through windows of the herbs of tangerine.
sprinkle me and bless my juices dry.
baptise my senses far beyond extreme;
no secret life have I beyond regime.
no torso has a clown
nor eiderdown for a passive man of pain.
cover me from head to toe
taste my breath and breathe as friendly foe.
bite me quick
the pastures of distortion all I have
to offer as remorse an aged man
who sings through pages whiter than the flesh
that scales the heights my fingers dare caress;
should silence sing
and bring an end this day of sudden Spring;
listen now the chorus of my heart;
close your eyes
listen as I sing;