Saturday, October 14, 2006

The figure of pain

And yet their priestess stands, piteously.
Their wounds speak unseeingly within the abandonment nevermore.
But wait -- my hill of grief fears a poison, silently.
Wherefore are those desolate houses redeemed?
Those people run, as lustfully as the wise dream behind the mirage of loneliness still!
Before Man I was orgasmic!
An oppressor is dreaming of an unknown warrior.
The primitive mother struggles, hideously!
I slumber wildly.
It destroys their skull of joy...
You know my dragon of pain, thunderously.
Wherefore do I mourn lying upon their lonely sea above the bitterness?
I accept an abandoned storm, appallingly...
The lost ravings seethe!
I crawl appallingly far beyond the grief.


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