iPhone Poem
22 JAN. 2009 You are certainly bare of fame, studded wedding gown alas! the scorn of rain today's dreamily barren - a drip here and there, none echoing the same scorn of rain today, alas! The wedding gown, a diamond cut & stud to accompany quiet struts of dreams has grown no more than a puddle wetting the sky; moldy clouds as cloistered diamonds coil staid, alas! To the grave as certain as our fame, we sift the air for quiet things, as dreams grown in the beds we have lain, as saints in halls, as ivory beams, puffed tufts of diamond clouds, alas! You are a whip of chemical light, chest puffed and fluttering as the birds tickling air, peaking into heart and calling unto the saints: this ivory mattress in which we lay has grown to fame and love all but the dreams we scorn, the quiet unions, the projected senses grave descent into saint-less beams of a shallow dark, as wedded boughs with leaves never born anew.
Credit: Matthew Charles Moran - Vocals; Cycorder - iPhone video recording application
Copyright: Matthew Charles Moran
Published by Anatolios A.
There was a Holy Cricket amongst the shrub and thicket. But to my knowledge, the hedges are now chopped garbage, and the bug's a squished pile of guts and blood within it. View profile
