deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Pace Of Our Own Ways

Repetitive tumors burn  
buried in crumbly clay  
& baked inside kilns  
to harden the glaze  
(There's a fire in my face...)  
 
Because I taste these  
soured days  
set like bitter braces  
on the edge of our screwy teeth  
Unraveled deeds dry out  
into stale calendar dates  
yielding merely bitter figs  
 
Behold!  
The hour is pale  
daylight is dappled  
like pooling darkness - swimming holes  
rippled shadows of light  
 
Gallop to the cusp  
so in riding you'll find  
Life...within  
the glued impact  
aligned
Written by AtoMikbomb
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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