no beneficial light.
slumber has it\'s promises.
how dark they crawl
these feathers through the features of design.
it has set the rain on fire
this bandaged wood more glorious that luck.
the stubborn walk of centipede
stalks each blade of glass we walk upon.
wheelbarrow eyes and all that march discreet
it is here beyond the each and every man
a blacksmith bride on the black side of my lung.
one more hook and the waterfowl devoured.
as honest as a flower
happy hands and shamrock to make of what we please.
why should all snails have children
with a brighter smile than ours?
we are three bald ladies, you and I
in a comfort zone of ginger beer
threadbare perhaps, but the counted days remain.
I have two minds, only one of which is yours
in a cage of steel on the corner of a bed.
it is only when it breathes I dare a touch
of beneficial light in the rolling eyes.
slumber had it promises
too dark to hide
these feathers through the features of design.
they are mine, I tell the world; they are mine!