Looking

Crystallised sulphur tips
protruded from the exits
of her fingers as she
stroked the woodenness
of my back and the
indents of my skull
exploded outwards
into irrational clusters
that contained my
thoughts, but of
course thats what
made it irrational as
the outlines of
the horizon set the
sun behind industrial
havens that melted
the scenery into reflective
fluoride pyramids.

She harboured all hope,
created all doors
and closed the exits
of defeat
and with all hope
she was a broken winged
crow that bustled her
way down past lightening
struck windows
and onto
Philistine onlookers
that just gathered
and regarded her
a carnival

I was sickened
not by her
by the spectacle
that arranged itself
around her,
when they could of
arranged themselves
around her art,
but i couldn't though,
I couldn't risk
that much for
my art,
i wasn't that
much of an artist.