Now where is that past in jest?
Axed the split mind of a mental
neuron's behest. Corpus callosum?
The fine devide, the brain-child
of a clever disguise or languissement?
I was told there is great power in pinecones,
so i learned to opine from a cone in a grapevine.
Apropo to stomps some grape, in sport
it's just agape... the highest sort of love
man to god and god to man. I'm agape.
I feel a mental rape. Where's my rapier?
I want to whine, i'll take more wine so
that i may indulge to opine my opinion...
who's voice is just a minion. How cute and clever.
Whatever.
I miss what i lost through the fault of my own
where divisions were carved on an ancient stone.
The blood long dried and the aurochs are gone.
If I knew old opinions would last, I would opine
to an unknown upper class, and be a silent lass.
Silently i suffer to silence the sword, I give my word
it is not small task to quiet the cast of opine.
Does dead words like trees leave a shadow behind?
or a memory of a fleeting linger, a scent of pine.
O pine of mine... the last cast of the trigger finger.
Monday, February 27, 2017
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