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Poetry
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| White elephants | |
| By emilio | ||||||
| 27 March 2008 | ||||||
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I enjoy the randomness of life's natural beauty; I offer no concepts or contemporary issues, sorry Phil...I know you like answers and explanations. Just don't mix the spice with sugar. Wet handles as you climb Towards the luminous of Pleasure. Sinking in dream in the world Of wood and violence, blindly In search of treasure. Repeat your phrases father, don’t Bother, these foot-steps are in tune with The farther. Come near ephemeral fear, there waits A hand that organizes your thick pulses, It’s I you smear. Constant drifters roam these streets, Constant talks about infinite flocks and the Many faces that portray the Gods. Some grab the belly, others feet, one the tail, then some With no treat; but whose To tell the enigmatic seed that fell?
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