Sunday, February 22, 2015


When the currents of ruin run so deep
I tell myself that I might never sleep.
For if I dream the soundtrack strums and beats
A cheap rhythm that promises then cheats.

That silver train is rolling by.
It sways with a jerk
Like an old red rattler
That needs some work.
Two caravans are coupled
Amongst the crowded cars,
With sky blue flashes on the sides -
Pristine like some sick fashion's scars -
Painted by an idiot's hand,
A hideous crime of design.

And I cannot find your dreary art's house,
Hidden and dark in your mind of decay
That rears its flaccid horns in temper's bouts;
But I don't want to go there anyway.

No comments: