deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hand

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup
To be held

(thoughts leave ligature stains)

To be violently kept
And dig deep
Down the red seams
Called fortune
That rise like trees
But uproot themselves
At the wrist

One so pale and daggered
One limp yet meaningful
Oneís soul might forget it extends

One sparrow
One stone
One star to find me

(a comets score would burn a smaller space)

The World had turned within a tinier spot
How long could we keep the world turning
Under my thumb

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

(the chalice had filled with spray)
Grey matter and lust
The clear pink of a dark red
the moment just before

Brutal
(elementary momentum)
Brutal
The moment just before


..........

He had paused and looked and let out a clear headed scream and his eyes were gashes the color of nickel and stone his heart was stone cold his voice was deep his voice was high pitched uncontrollably so his eyes were thrown wide his head was foggy he only wailed and moaned he wailed he wailed he wailed on a head no longer clear....

So deep and dark was his soul

..
..
..

It is paced in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

And itís weight in iron
Would sink the world
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