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Thorax
The march of metal ants
piling on pavement
pulsing black antler breath,
You see my coincidences
in absentia don't you?
Then why do you refuse to accept
a rapid procession of pictures?
Ripped reasons
from the chest of projectors
scan me vividly before a dim
cloud is all I can dream of
think of
breath in to be a part of,
Wait for me at the gates!
I'll be there talking to the here after
and still into tomorrow!
We'll laugh specatacular,
March metal ants
come with silver
baring gifts,
petitioning the Matriarch
to remove us from elevation,
The patter of thorax
of mash and mighty
gnashing feelers
fixate on my breathing,
The lash is all we know
with a crack breaking silence
