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Rising Sun -or- Digging to China
Gather round me, oh my Greek brethren.
Link together, lock lily white knuckles,
Summon the Muse Centurion,
Bolster this ravaged dry husk observer.
Through aluminum venetian blind
I catch the molestor and turn to the sun.
Pieces fall to me,
Bladed, shards of parallel light.
Sweet eviceration. . .
Sweat nutrition
For the earthly blades.
Muse action, turn into sun.
There is the flame,
Floating, flickering gas afire
Above 2 diamandas.
With a mischievous smirk,
Smiting Sir Bowie -
The tin machine will not bend,
But i will, When Red Darkens Black
To eclipse that sun. . .
