Your Poetry Dot Com - The Wishing Machine

A thinning layer for spider nets.
Blankets the quiet serenity of swamps.
Stagnant memories of fledgling sparrows,
Chirping with lips of paralysis and theory.
Land Life. Life Land. Land Lift. Lilacs.
Sheen of ashes and silk.
Overgrowth, composition and rampaging thieves.
Salt, salt, vinegar. Eyelashes in the sink
And drops of visceral rage from Galileos' Prospectus.

Sixteen long weeks loving, plotting, planting.
Twelve short gasps, temporary tenancy in buildings
A home, a nest of buzzing peasants.
Octagonal divisions of transfused deformation.
Pierce, wipe, dry and shred. Cover with lemongrass.
Serve cold with a soft Cabernet.

" Can you speak to me in dreams?"
" I will and have but all forgiven, I will until my mouth runs dry."
" Will your demonstrative incandescence of life bring food to fleas no more?"
" Alas my solitude is binding, I am strapped inside a blood line of deceit."'

And slowly as leaves filter out and dribble, carrying dreams of the living who are wishing no more. They are brave dancing waves and babbling graves.

This poem is Copyright © RitalinKid