|
Menu
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
JDM,The Lost Paris Tapes.
Contributed by
Incognito_Bombastus
on
Wednesday, 29th July 2009 @ 11:26:26 PM in AEST
Topic:
ambiguous
|
JDM,The Lost Paris Tapes.
(it's priceless, but I'm glad I didn't have to pay for it.)
It is a record of new life.
The poet inventing himself,
Bathing from times fame and grit to renewal.
A coming to life,not silent upon rich Darriens Peak
With tounge cut out, like Murat,
Bleeding anew, comingling & like to all life comes
Death grinning & groaping at the summer's rich bowers,
Of summer sun borbles.
Between Death's teeth flesh pops
Syrup runs down his jowls.
All snatched like a thief in the nightly
Orchards of mortal mockery.
The farmer cuts grass in its summer peak
The sheath and sheathe so sharp, so sleek
Sythes & sigh
The belovered does cry.
Why is death, the farmer so poor?
Because he hordes not stores.
(it's priceless, but I'm glad I didn't have to pay for it.)
It is a record of new life.
The poet inventing himself,
Bathing from times fame and grit to renewal.
A coming to life,not silent upon rich Darriens Peak
With tounge cut out, like Murat,
Bleeding anew, comingling & like to all life comes
Death grinning & groaping at the summer's rich bowers,
Of summer sun borbles.
Between Death's teeth flesh pops
Syrup runs down his jowls.
All snatched like a thief in the nightly
Orchards of mortal mockery.
The farmer cuts grass in its summer peak
The sheath and sheathe so sharp, so sleek
Sythes & sigh
The belovered does cry.
Why is death, the farmer so poor?
Because he hordes not stores.
Copyright ©
Incognito_Bombastus
... [
2009-07-29 23:26:26] (Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment. That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
|