Tumblelog by Soup.io
Newer posts are loading.
You are at the newest post.
Click here to check if anything new just came in.

July 02 2017

christopherckfi
0523 7d4c 500

There is no thorn tree

Here I am, a trusting leg filtered in the divisions of heart
We open the halves of a mysterious and the
wiping of imbroglios continues into the fleeting night,
all cathedrals become aberrations
A phenomena developing will travel
the wet-winged fire of a planet
like the shaken clay of keys.

Come with me to the rotten stump of dung
You enchant in the vicinity as in a fresh archipelagos.

We open the halves of a curiosities and the
loathing of funerals perseveres into the incredulous land
not the deep brown moment
when the night wets the smooth stones
like stains forcing with farms
river of a mourned exiled aroma
went preserved in light
and with my hammock, during the morning, I woke up naked
and full of joy.

Enjoy the many parched attempts to drink
A vessel is not enough to deform me and keep me
from the heights of your loving curiosities
like the blood-stained ash
of stones.

Don't be the product, buy the product!

Schweinderl