Friday, June 02, 2006

and the bleach burns my face,
drives holy Mother Mary deep
into these water color pages
and the most naked of eyes

and a patch for the broken
idiot soul, trained on marble
chill - pure sensation of touch
and pure synapse motion

and she sees frayed rope
tethering wild hearts, hears
the sound of black powder
lips, awash in stained melody

and the posible world exists
as we scrape off any ivy
with our own sweet posion touch
and climb our way to the heavens

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