Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Vocal Epidemic

The clouds are descending as
I shamefully ask why
The doom settles
On the edge of the tongue,
On a piece of lint on the tip
Of a rolling ballpoint.
The sun ignites
Within the sword’s edge
Double edged, folded a thousand times
Reflecting veritable proof
Of shadow cutting through
Amber lit dusk,
Courier of the lethal curse
Jabbing, stabbing,
While the star shines
In the spark
Of a flint
Winking at the watchful eye
That slays and cuts through the night
Exposing the attempt to strangle
And choke
With verbal redundancy,
As purity of reason 
Gleams and beams
Upon  triangulation.

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