Statue Maker

A silent rift, sudden sanguine answers / born of delicate conquest./Derived are the ones/ they all fawn over,/ those they long to see. /My wrath contains sneers, that revile with glee/as the time passes, it only grows clearer /that time is the only world the world can see./ It comes with ease, a notion of thrills,/with regard to her gender/in embrace of fluid arms/as mottoes and epigrams wither on the vine./Once smashed in stone, somehow wordless now,/the mind left with thought more/ than what it would rather be./Glands and muscles as old as me: /when confined to forests ,I become a tree./Hand wrings on a fugitive;as he figured, /he’d amble through a pasture of dead leaves./The faces fall off, disembodied, /on one knee motionless,/kindness and candor, /from the spell falling over plaster statues,/in gardens of remains./ Reasons in stone, without heated screams, siren acts engineered by the powers that be./The sparks I want ride the night I want,/charcoal smeared on faces./For words smashed in stone seldom retrieve/what’s wasted in feather and easily bleeds.

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