Devil's manucured hand
wrings cries of pleasure
from the battered fiddle's skin .
Bow is a whip of delight
who lay bare the senses .
I love this decadent prelude .
Morning will wake up
to yesterday gropping
in search of tomorrow ...
Wall of the absents ,lament .
Midgets performing their ablutions
in the bunkers of power .
Story 's plot consists solely
of industrial architectures
and public transportation to Pitchipoi ...
At noon ,train returning empty .
Appointment with afterlife schedulded .
Lord let these cute corpses come to me
at the final trill ...
Amour ! amour !
So many decent crimes in your name !
Foolish troubadours worshipping you
in the quiet valleys of some ignored genocide...
Sensual Salome ,does the residue of your belly
have a soul in its animal beauty ?
at dawn a sandstorm from the Sahara
clogged mouths ,causing turmoil
among the tribe of flies ...
Crematorium's cuspidor .
Mourning prelude symphony .
Paganini's return .
Play for me Gypsy
before joining the void !
Barett of fate against my temple .
Fatal kiss .
In the midst of the rubble
Let's have a rest ...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: March 3rd, 2026 11:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett

Online)
Comments1
Sensuous and seductive the left handed one. Why do we beat the fiddle, such a siren's tone. Our mornings are always the refuse of yesterday and tomorrow but a dream away. Amour an executioner following orders. Where you see a cuspidor I see a bed pan. Always loved Paganini and as for Barett must be a relative mine has two r's. Good one my friend a fave
Prelude to the times on a fidle trill .Thanks for fave .
Most welcome
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