my
dreams
are
funerals
where the dead mourn too
my
dreams
orbit
the
heart of sickness
like stealth satellites
they
monitor numbers stations
broadcasting
blind
on
a
carpet
stain
moon
~
and theres a castle
in
the hinterlands there
i
built
it
from
soft
bricks of flesh
( imagine a lego brick
but
soft to the touch
and
layered with
pale
veined skin )
the castle in the hinterlands there
its
uninvaded
its cold
turkey
its
a plucked goose tower
vibrating
in
the
rain
and
every
drop
has
its
designated landing zone
a ledge to swell on
and
a sky to reflect
~
and
the castle windows are holes now
where
we
used
to
where
we used to
~
and well
dusk
has some balls
dont
it ?
doing what it does
everyday
telling us
what
we
dont
want
to hear
its over
it
says
its
over again
so
lay yourself down again
and worry again
that
you done enough
or
havent
( havent )
~
and i fall
without
moving
into
prescribed
sleep
into
undirected
theatre
into the castle there
its walls lined
with
the
detachable
organs
of
another
nights
mad
surrender
~
and i can only be grateful
when
it lets me return
in one piece
back to
dusks
upside
down
morning
from rpgdrivethru.com
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