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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Sunday, April 8, 2012

off the wall

when sincalls stir we just flare about
and sashay on ardour to the pyre
sizzling with the prospect of kindling
embers of heaven in conflagration
-no choice's allowed
nor cross voice's heard-
once about to sin all pieties jump off
it's a freeze out and we are all found
collectively mad at the wall we stand
all knowing awaiting to be stoned
breathless from a blast of velvet rock
screeching violas and utter darkness
on the fiery score hopelessly biding
a last minute rally of one crasher
californian fit to scream the fish call
like a password to get us off the rack
and have us back on the street to trot
with a flair scoffing the mean hooks
the sultry proxies the paradise bought
and sold the immolation calls

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