Revisionist

in the pit,
of my abide;
someone breaks wind,
burning odour takes over;
who cares.
If I were reversible,
an awful thought, is this possible;
notions maw, those hooves that paw,
you reduced, made by things minuscule;
by the straits, of your hypocrisy.
soon, so soon, silver slippery spoons,
you think, you thought, you brought, you swoon;
your image, reflected through time's hourglass,
contained, within a porcelain thrones surpass;
beholden to and only hued, of a mindset maimed,
god damns, those whose houses, cause humans pain;
will contained, this moment's spine, unholy trilogy,
your image, and a cracked reflections eulogy;
this shall then divide you, male from other,
man, from lover, man from mother;
we will to meet, the finished treats,
if we speak, you will recognize your creator;
my voice, the things it's yearn, oh shite you say,
want to hear, can you bare, your thoughts this day.

by Michael Walkerjohn

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.