Windmills

Windmills

Knee deep
In the shadow of the apocalypse
And in the vain
Of the color of a cold kiss
We took turns
Shooting back ipecac
Chased it with bliss
Turned ourselves
Into windmills
So insomniac
Constantly turning
New leaves
New revelations
New revolutions

We were
Tongues glued to
Hot-headed suicide
Masqueraded
Intoxicated, dancing, and singing
Vaudevillian by the graveside
Pissing on a tombstone
We carved
We caressed
We nurtured
From a pebble
Now a tombstone
Not a mountain
Just a tombstone