another day of solitude.
two Ospreys fly through the corners of my eyes.
it is here I wear their rags of richness lost
tossed and turned with an embryo
of inherited disease.
what price I pay for what I cannot touch?
somewhere inside the red veins of the sun
it has begun
eternal life now shines it\'s olive-green on pastures new.
now it bathes in silk
weaves it\'s web of a rusted chrome
where water stands
so shall I crave my daily dose of nicotine and ash.
there is a hunger to be found
as hungry and profound as all I dare to mingle with;
three wishes for this Gemini
where Cohen, you and I
pretend we are more subtle
as we hang ourselves beside the mistletoe
where lovers weep
with disgruntled pigs in a wooden box
with my gold and my cotton and pearls.
faith is as ill proposed
what price I pay for what I cannot touch?
I am neatly packed
so shall I miss the one\'s I loathe the most;