deepundergroundpoetry.com
To Know Another
Your evils splash hue in the griming crevice.
Onto an absent plate its lyrical form
steeped in a pure light's gentle prism and never the pure light bare and full.
Jesus crashed into the makings of the flowered world, there in sinner's gooseflesh, for the holy made them blind.
If those are heaven's throes, then where is your earth?
Or have you provided no place for an amateur?
This pregnancy will last until the telomere is snatched from its clockstand
by the rush of the woodland specie's gulp of the narrator of verse.
So offer this lonely nocturne
and stroke the wrinkle that binds the face
to memory
and wring your crime out on ears
in which absolve the former years.
Onto an absent plate its lyrical form
steeped in a pure light's gentle prism and never the pure light bare and full.
Jesus crashed into the makings of the flowered world, there in sinner's gooseflesh, for the holy made them blind.
If those are heaven's throes, then where is your earth?
Or have you provided no place for an amateur?
This pregnancy will last until the telomere is snatched from its clockstand
by the rush of the woodland specie's gulp of the narrator of verse.
So offer this lonely nocturne
and stroke the wrinkle that binds the face
to memory
and wring your crime out on ears
in which absolve the former years.
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