Monday, July 19, 2010


I carried you through like a trophy
Amongst southeast strips of scenic eyes,
Smelling flowers before standing delivered,
Possibly their smell could be of thought
Gone rotten, breasts all to me like
Goddesses of night, the hidden voice
Of pleasure speaking in the night,
In sheets soiled with tears, pillows
Penetrated for lusting ghosts, drinking
The water boiled to sanitize, sore pelvises
Thrusting to cum pain struck and more, to wit
On subject matter blurred by beginners luck,
Transforming my limbs into arms stroking the
Curves of a serpent, alluring hair I stroke, barbed wire
Fences surrounding her wall. Sidewalks talk of
Degrees increased with yards burning away, out
To the river flushing excrement exceeding decay, like
Memory clutches that weaken the present mind,
A different position for every episode
My future promises, an activity risen on ashtray
Dwellings, beaches of no sand or ocean, needles with
No prick, love without the L, the trots of no-legged
Fragile men. What varies is that scent descent
Into aroma therapy, nostalgic oils of
Innocent eyes, narcissistic neck stained
By an angels perfume.

by Brian Anthony Hardie

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