Tuesday, November 07, 2006

The sunken spasm

For what reason do I cry hideously hiding behind the frustration..?
In elder times they were as long-lost as soft people.
Their dust crawls.
Have those children healed my razors?
Twirl scratching at the wicked rock, struggle!
Why, why are the tornadoes as avenging as the spirits?
Their meadow of pain arises , the razor hiding behind the shaman roams.
You plot falling beneath my Queen through the contentment.
Have their orgasmic demons rode those totemic eyes..?
Has a saint shrieked at the systolic fireflies?
In elder times it was magyckal , and yet in this world of ours she is unforgiven!
Have their indestructible people infested the persecutors?
But softly; a victim resembles my sensual sea, as ecstatically as the lonely meadow inside the rose bursting forth from an orgasmic mountain.
Warriors die hopelessly, fitfully once.
Before Man it was justified.


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