Sunday, May 31, 2009

Wear it Well

Anger in loss of control...
is a fringe benefit of love,
otherwise who cares
in the braiding of the 
too trite for words,
the future... too old for
memory of fondue dipping.

Pinch me in tweak,
I know I'm alive 
in the featherbed of dooming,
I've learned to survive...

In so-so sewing
the seams of a trout
jump hither in rainbow,
a reeling of color
and flipping in frenzy...

Shout a silent scream
and all is forgotten,
spin to dizzied fizzing-
sits upon a spam of laughter.

The emoticon wears it's quell
in springing torture
of all is well...
drink deep draught
and despair in hell.

A clash of fisty-cuff 
is still a lashing 
of terror
in knuckled bleeding...

I saw the face of an unexpected 
death, in clarity and clash of platter
I bid it...
go home ... all is well in sweep keeping.

The light has no bounds,
nor energy to sustain it.

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