Thursday, February 12, 2009




To enter the dark,

We sit stationary twelve to one,

In separated seminary circles of thin design,

On a red carpet plain to guide our discussion,

Of relaying on religion while shaded by blinds,

But she stares me down with a thick-lipped sneer,

Such shades are drawn like a snuff nosed whore,

Whose only source of income’s a black haired boy,

Balanced upon a pole with hands clutched below the belt

Ever enticing consumers with unbroken pallid posed skin,

So white it is to touch which resonates such rainbows,

And casts small shadows across the backs of men,

Who walk thin corridors lined by narrow light,

Lasting longer than most, but shorter than many,

More ready than all to progress to the past,

Where twelve is to one,

And one is to we.





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