This site will self destruct in 2 months, March 17. It will come back, and be familiar and at the same time completely different. All content will be deleted. Backup anything important. --- Staff
|
|
Should I crawl Craven with some filigree foot Hidden forever In the shadows of my own Innocuous phantom To spend the hours Amongst the esteem of cement and parchment Courting the grains of sand Clinging to the befuddled moss And wondering on the prisms caught In dew drops The dust I think This nighttime reminds me of Once the stars were made of And but for dreams Would scratch onto rock All that I was Every smile Every love Nailed into this crumbling stalwart And crunched on teeth The stones of its food Who The light flickers Who As nothing answers Save the rattle flicker Of celluloid theatre And on the image depicted This vast and written me In all those technicolours Of a dream Who There on this silver pixel screen It was a life Now etched in thumbnail scrapes Counting the seconds in The years The days And but for dreams Would I be scratched into brick All that made me That which I was Every smile Every love Nailed with the sleepwalking palms Stalwart crunching ever on the tooth The stones Of its food Who Who Who there tiptoed through the ranks Of sleeping angels |
I have no idea what this is wholely about but I loved it. "who", indeed. People should read this slow and feel it out. "The dust I think This nighttime reminds me of Once the stars were made of" I like that part alot of much, however its very confusing. Hard to realy comment on this, its a nice piece yet difficult to understand. Which is absolutely fine I my book. If we realy cared if others understood our writes, then we would not write as we do. | Posted on 2011-06-21 00:00:00 | by snacky fish | [ Reply to This ] | |