Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Your John Handcock Anatomically

Energy Signatures

Are all days passing slowing leaving
Affecting seemingly only longingly
Of words only known
A John Handcock of the secret language we’ve sown.
Thrust into gravity the clockwork twists
Cumulating with water Acidic
Fleeting as the retrospective destiny
The 25 cents more a withered tweed chap
With a cabaret whore
Hell en Isma Valore
She signs across iced over door
God closed
Us enthusiasts of spontaneity
Pried with our momentary blindness
The window not really,
A magnifying class,
For each apple nutrients
Binding to proverbial make up.
For each word we hear
Writing stomach into mime
Of emotions home grown
Spoken to the mind of our assessor unknown
Signed by the icing quilt
Of lives hardly shown

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