Ferocious beasts

Ferocious beasts run the streets
merciless and mechanized
in an uncaring world, seeking
new phones, perhaps fancy boxes.

Under the yew’s black branches
I lie in wait of fate’s gift
psychosis or tumors pursue
what modernity lifts.

You longed for the beating heart of a man
instead of this copper junk
You wished subservience and passion
and gained the lowest result

no matter

You see? As the neon night wanes
I bathe in the silence of dawn.
In hand dug, humid black wells
my heart is ripped and drowned

in other mistakes, glass jagged,
the dream dreaming again.
Like any man, alone being made
alone keeps being himself.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *