Steel / words / 2011 / Mow

Her soul is desolate.

Her angel is a liquid slate.

Here and now.

A placement of soul

Shifting Netherlands.

She has the key as Her sword.

I watch Her weep brightly, foreword.

And then her.

– her dagger runs deep in dreamscape

I awake in a bloody escape.

Where does her slithering organ end?

Not a friend. Here everything

is below board.

Soaring before.

And now

Not so clear.

Some fear in those crystal

Eyes

Just might be my demise.

She dances with my Sun.

From the heat of her neck

The party bell has rung.

Shifted candy.

not so pleasing.