Friday, June 3, 2011

Now you're thinking with portholes!

And they say I don't work enough in maths.

Reveal your eyes
Your shiny
White rimmed
Wide brimmed
Portholes to the soul

You shut your mouth
Your deadened croaked
Whiskey soaked
Direct open line
To your mind

Cover your head
Your sanctum's core
The memory store
The fight to shut out
The light

Open your legs
Your rusty gates
A hunger's sate
Spread them apart
Straight up to your heart

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