87

Just as catastrophe incarnate

I tremble, throbbing and boiling inside,
with flesh so putrid I have to scorn it,
and a fallow vision to redivide:
I'd take water and air over flame, earth;
I'd take blue or grey over the blue tip,
since the gamut is every color worth
blending, not clarity when bright eyes slip:
The red sun reflected itself neatly,
with the moonlight nestled on its right flank,
so I could drink of its oceans sweetly,
but solely lukewarm water filled my tank:
Until the sun got hot and water boiled,
and I learned to see clear why I have toiled.
Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s