Barbed And Killing Its Mystery,
Dragging A Hump Dry Across The Aisle Between Pews,
Then To Creep With The Setting Shift Of Fadeing Day
Up ALong The Tapestry And Its Symbiotic Knottings,
Prying With Relentless Edge To Slide Wet And Peeling Under Its
Whispering With A Throbbing Null… Worming Its Way To The Pinnacled
InTo The Golden Touches Of Nuance Amongst The Mistletoe And Apertured
As Cups With Their Swords Collect For Hollow Tooth And Claw,
To Strip The Dancers Below Of Their Spirited Fetish…
Then With Threads To Descend Wordlessly InTo Hysteria,
UnLocking Each Hand Of Its Life… To The Lines… For Geists As
A Cemetery For Elementary Bearers Under Universeal Laws,
When It Be Fit To Sleep Under The Assureing Heft Of A Slitting Fold
Down-Adorned InTo Comfort And Its Symbolic Clotheings,
Spying With Eye Pressed To Chaliced Raise To Set When Splitting APart
As Will Arrowed-Through,
Dulling The Thistle Of Its Bobbing Fill… Emergeing As Knighted To
The Collapsed March,
Exiting With A Cacophonous Stumble InTo The Face-Grease And Staggered
As Armed, Lipped, And Worded-Direct For Shallow Grave And Stone,
To Strap The Singers Above To Their Desperate Flesh.
Visit Richard at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/07/the-clink-of-keys-in-dreaming-echo.html.
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