The meaning of life is life alone. To produce, to sustain, to follow the bell graph while living day to day in a confines of a petri dish.
Ruled by underbrush, I stager through strange. The erasure of voices leaves only a crumb of pining and I seek it. A hanging garden stands alone with faux, light eyes and Sheppard's' crooks. Pollinated madness coats the edge of night's gray sleeve as the moon breathes and wanes. I am surrounded by the primal lust of queer animals with tilted hands and jilted hearts.
And shit pours from their mouths like a thousand shrill shrieks doused in sweat. The rancid petals of rotting meat realize carnal pleasure. They dip their heads between her blood and rear in slight retort. For a moment the creatures turn to me, they are sick between her legs. They offer strange gestures, I turn and they return to feed. I carry back my unfit bones and watch as the garden shrinks for her thousand screams.
Her pheromones wane with the moon
Poetry by Seraphina
Read 404 times
Written on 2007-06-16 at 14:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Hanging Gardens
I walk a curved path, an overgrown path of brainless intent, a path only fit for the blind at heart.Ruled by underbrush, I stager through strange. The erasure of voices leaves only a crumb of pining and I seek it. A hanging garden stands alone with faux, light eyes and Sheppard's' crooks. Pollinated madness coats the edge of night's gray sleeve as the moon breathes and wanes. I am surrounded by the primal lust of queer animals with tilted hands and jilted hearts.
And shit pours from their mouths like a thousand shrill shrieks doused in sweat. The rancid petals of rotting meat realize carnal pleasure. They dip their heads between her blood and rear in slight retort. For a moment the creatures turn to me, they are sick between her legs. They offer strange gestures, I turn and they return to feed. I carry back my unfit bones and watch as the garden shrinks for her thousand screams.
Her pheromones wane with the moon
Poetry by Seraphina
Read 404 times
Written on 2007-06-16 at 14:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
