Hanging Lines

aDarkerMind



hanging lines.

Hemmingway staccato.

blind to music

malignant

ill-prepared;

beneath the crawl

twisting grass of hyacinth

knots seasons fiddles

scurrying like blood;

pregnant with the plague

that rapes the cyclones circle of the moon;

by hells own hand

came buttermilk

dripping from the torso of a tongue

elite and censored

pasteurized

embalming fruits from the streets of Babylon;

mild mannered meek

is this my final year?

boned-marrow sketches leaves between my eyes.

I have served your wishes well

bled freely from your kisses on my wrist.

but sleep I crave

as slave to dreams as black as devils-stout;

cut me out of paper

parcel me as sinus and a sneeze

now terror and the squeeze of deaths delight

lights my way

cold irons bound

as Dylan in decay;

placebo kind

Monet in a fountain 

cactus blood 

floods my mind one second at a time.

blind as love

mercurial as tin;

one day I'll paint my masterpiece

promiscuous and thin;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Author: Melvin James (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 17th, 2023 15:25
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 6
  • Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
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Comments +

Comments2

  • Teddy.15

    Sounds like a plea to the dark side to give you some peace and quiet. you paint your very own masterpiece every time. ❤️

    • aDarkerMind

      you read my words very well Teddy.
      bless you;

    • Thomas W Case

      You paint the picture so well with your word choice and imagery.



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