my brain is mud and your eyes are the sun,
the colours are writhing and bleeding,
the daylight is receding,
the visions ever impeding,
i will feel each bit lie limp as i'm kneading.
bury my head in the canvas,
drool red and show you what,
because i cannot stand this,
drool red where it cut.
i will float across the atlantic and show up at your door,
soaked and worn down,
you can’t parade me around town.
drool red and eat lead,
drool red and cut off my head,
drool red and let me go to bed.
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Comments1
who would be a fish eh? dear poet
a poignant, yet visionary write!
love your dark humour
and thickly weaved, sarcastic commentary
you've created something very special
in this unassuming and subtly vivid, read
(in my humble opinion)..
thank you!
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