Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The Tongue Tries

Too quiet, my mind-cave full tongues
and labors of wispy wants.
Shadows on the wall curvy.
Shadows of men.
Whispers and shouts, but silence the loudest
echo and dream-dazed I
want to get out.

Pattern and principle, court me.
Flame, stone and breath, be my wings.
Too long, dumb shock-sizzle
burns blind, burns me
softly, slowly, seething

romance from hissing fire. I
long to get out. Shortly;
I’m coming.