This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO



O! This still night jostles the dripping center
Bringing closer our wedding of dark breath
Strapped to the chest in an intelligent design
And stirring the cackled graves of the suffering;
Thousands of them slain in the time it takes
A tall building to implode in a torrent of flesh
Or in the span of dreaming up a new God.

O! The still night quickens our oozing core
Rending nearer our pitching dream.
On its back rides a chattering ugly thing
Made of our thoughts and our hunger.
It’s come to anoint our feet with moist lips
And place a wreath `round our neck
And call us savior, liberator and murderer.

(Like I said, it’s a chattering ugly thing…)

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Related Posts with Thumbnails