Mirros Savi

Dec 23, 2007 - 23:09 PM PST

Phantasmal swords of lightning
white caps on the darkest ocean
torn from a mirror image of
itself and a crystal memory that
was almost forgotten.
a cascade of tortured smiles
twisted lash and brims
spent in an avalanche of dust
expanding in the horizon
a peon in his father's game
significant digits are null. fake.
nonexistent in a petticoat thought,
a steaming staple of horticultural bliss
served impure in its Taoist sense--
manipulate and Machiavelli that twisted fuck
tear my own flesh lest ye be torn
pulled body from integrity in the battle
mists on a shadow twist opaque
and reveal your inevitability--
the pit of your stomach spewed before your feet
and everything you ever wanted
in love
and life
and work
and sex and god
is right beyond sight.

forged so no alternative exists
cannot scale the dirt-black ramparts,
still unaware,
only drifting, floundering
in the now of violent evening.