I feel toxic
eating the flesh
of the world
artichoke hearts
oil and manure
no more essence
impressions incessant
problematic triangles
conscription impressive
I feel toxic
chant in expression
forever relation
comfort existent
we of the presence
must rid of the sensation
the reliance on
dots ever crescent
to give of the resin
the sweet song
elation
1 comment:
The first stanza of this poem is wonderful - very concise. Is the flesh of the world artichoke hearts, oil and manure? Who knows, but it sounds amazing. I only wish the same pin-point accuracy was present in the rest of the poem. I felt like you pulled me in with a brassnuckle grip to show me the secrets of the universe - and then kind of danced around the meat of it.
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