I should have left him
Lying in that ditch
But no- and he rose all phoenix-like
To break my spell.
But there's power in pressing
Buttons....One stroke of an iron
Hand can hustle those wrinkles
Wrinkle those hustlers...
But finally there's that moment
Where the words stand alone
The Sword cuts or slices
Or rescues whores, lavatory cleaners,
Donkey attendants,to say nothing
Of the Princes of this world.
Lancing wounds left covered and boiling
Breeching the dams of mindfollies.
Unseen but heartfelt they romance
The parched and peurile
They overpin the ovaries of desire
Beguiling the beleaguered they
Burnish the breasts of noble songbirds
All crystal facets of their zircon light.
