Poezja

Every eddy seeps into brokenness, wearing away the seams of morning
Pulling away the wear of night. Dreaming about hordes of twisted days
Penitent for a heart enslaved by desires burning the core, past senescent
Meanderings onto fetid cushions of corruption in backseats and coffin,
Hot ichor coursing in fetishes and groaning idols, searing away eyelids,
Splintering doors and burrowing into the Mother-- greedy children, still
Unable to pull away the labels scratching the mystery of consciousness
Welted with stripes and numbers-- heedless of dawn each one marches
Out of sync from every other toward a stunted horizon of meaningless
Privilege, borne like a tired story heard by patient listeners waiting until
Fresh ears have been bled of the unknowing, their innocence forgotten
Along with their inception before the light scoured the deadness off of
Darkness. Soon trickles provoke a gasp of wakefulness and futile flailing
Against the torrent of reminders, bobbing corpses of lost opportunities.