The Babble of the Brook

the babble of the brook, the sins of sea.

the love as lost beheaded with the bladders reef,

has come half-dawn as scattered groins for the healings hunger,

one bite with a single twist on the devils bird.

to wing to sorrows cockroach on the darling buds,

times peeling skin for the heated sin of borrow;

tomorrow comes with the secrets of the thigh,

the half-hacked moon on a train ride to the hag,

her courtious uncertainty

crams Isis of Afghanistan in the worshipped heel.

it is only in the loins of trusted colours,

can we trench barefoot the naked screams of oil;

comes glory comes the chorus of the shy brain,

watch the land smile heated semen in the virgin womb,

as our pregnant mango stones a cities sleep.

not right in head nor in the bright room of subconscious,

can the glow of earthworm trick or treat a dry scalp,

bleed turning fork into the brambles of the guts flesh!

this side of the burning sun on the cold tooth,

bites foreskins hands on the fever of the spring watch.

listen for the crabs cough from the tombstones lung,

we are all but dead inside the fragrence of the soft peach;

teach us to care, but not to care,

teach us to learn, to stand still,

just to listen and behave as gentle men;

it is only when our oceans bare our childs' of fruit and laughter,

can we sing with siblings heart our everlasting;