Posted on Sunday, 1 May 2011

The womb Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go. My landscape is a hand with no lines, The roads bunched to a knot, The knot myself, Myself the rose you acheive—-This body, This ivory Ungodly as a child’s shriek. Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, Loyal to my image, Uttering nothing but blood—- Taste it, dark red! And my forest My funeral, And this hill and this Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.

The womb Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.

My landscape is a hand with no lines, The roads bunched to a knot, The knot myself,

Myself the rose you acheive—-This body, This ivory Ungodly as a child’s shriek. Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,

Loyal to my image, Uttering nothing but blood—- Taste it, dark red!

And my forest My funeral, And this hill and this Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.

5 notes

  1. nextcomingofvishnu-gaga reblogged this from aymygod
  2. portraitscollection reblogged this from aymygod and added:
    sylvia.
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