Sunday, November 27, 2011

Pedro parts the sea of class


Formless perception
Perceived as perfect in part
Labeled normal as whole
Accepted as quality
Bought as rare and unique
Treasured and mistaken
Vile self imposed confecture
Raise your hands to the sky
Self ordained prince of antiquity
thy deprecating bile spills to the sea
Drivel is your ship o servant of our times
full head of steam my courageous villian of stagnation

Save us from ourselves
Take me to land
lost at sea
I plead
Seat me on your hand
Hold me near your dusty heart
Let us rub a stick or two or three or four or five
Friction fuels the class and diamonds flash for crowns
Oh smoke, oh beautiful smoke forget him now
Release her licking fingers on this hollow suit 
Wooded grain runs shallow
Maybe you walk
or walked away
at least for now

No comments:

Post a Comment