The countess







The countess
Is clearing the floor
Zombie bask in the
Ease of her cape
A delusions
Protection
The great escape
For all flea dreamers
Live In islands of smoke
One minute there's whispers
Of something called hope
The world thus denies an
Orbit
With heels that clap
On every inch
Three blind men
Chase not to be lynched
But taste the tide
Of a desert once set
Now vision is aged
Their not done yet
Grappling the silk and oil
From her neck
No else to be selves
But at devils beck
I own the
Sun, the moon
Thus the snow
I am more than a Wiseman
You must never let me go
Paint me like tarmac
Across silver of walls
Damaged net with a fish
Like never before

Comments

Popular Posts