QuinquieremanQuinquieremanQuinquiereman
Our pilums and ducts, cages and ruts Wait out their end and ours, Our axes and rods, numbers and gods Now nihils, and dreams that were; The machine swells our gate A thousand heads of hate, As if itself, the lord of gore Its veterans and horse, they curdle and course In circles that sap our powers;
Fetch him, his guile, his voice and style A device to draw the machine aside, We know his good name, his weakness in the Game And habits apropos to a dog; Quinquiereman reels in with force Seeks the machine at its source, In t
CyclopticCyclopticCycloptic
I am the rusted scissor, through the century I heave, The gap is my promise, the carnage my wheel; My word is the loose bridge, my honour malarial, My old bones I rip out to be fitted with steel;
I find your old glory, in my autopsy of your heart, Shredded through my molars, it worms gutward and deep; Your extremities and exteriors, I cure them with salt, Morsels for Winter when I am muzzled by sleep;
I am the fist-sized eyes, the slender grey trunk, The chained fleshy columns, and the collosal bulk; I am the grin of greed, the flush of rape, &nbs
Anax AndronAnax AndronAnax Andron
Watch now my feet Callouses and heels, Stray over the din of the horde My horde, Sarissas and shields, corpse filled fields Mountains and rivers, boulders and shoulders;
Watch now the dust Curl out and up, Beneath and around me like a throne My throne, Foeman voices despair, cast their spears to air In my chest they pool, in grooves and wounds;
Watch now my friend His anger swells, Raging over his cup and wine My wine, My temper loosed, my sarissa used Once where he stood, now shadows rule;
Summer NightsSummer NightsSummer Nights
We slam our shotglasses into the low wooden table, Ties loose about our necks, Shirts drenched with sweat And the floral scent of the dancer Writhing around on our loose change And currency bills that have zero value;
Work cut deep into our energies, Turning our brains to bread Our legs to butter Sharpening stakes and spears Tightening our leather boots And rushing through the yellow grass At the bounding elk;
We slam our shotglasses into the low wooden table, Slapping each others' backs Like we are part of the sa
by `cheneymac
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Cloxboy's website: [link]
Gratz n.n
Hey, did you know if you minus the N in your name, that's my name?
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Keep it up.
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__________________
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we need to talk sometime
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__________________
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|.The STFU Truck..|||'""|""\__,_
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domestic abuse is a part of the poem, yes.
'is it about the process of life and death' < that particular stanzas was a general description of the nuke going off in the distance and seeing red curtains collapse and cascade across the land (destroying everything of course).
thanks for reading - im still working on 'there is a man' I had a deadline to submit that so it never reached the standards I originated for it.
as for - Image is in and ing - it was for the girlfriend.
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__________________
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|.The STFU Truck..|||'""|""\__,_
| __GoO 4ever __ l||__|__|__|)
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