Help!

Ah! I propagate such worthless states
I kindle hearts with eating-haste

I sip the silver lip of eyes
The gourds of flame, of fire and ice

I whirl the spinning and purloin their stares
I whistle and whip up the ferryman’s wares

I catch my breath on the current of thought
And my oil-slick heart bleeds — a lot.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s