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Poetry » Life » A Small Gem font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: A Rogue Decay
Fiction Rated: T - English - General - Reviews: 1 - Published: 05-16-08 - Updated: 05-16-08 - id:2518561

“Hope is a cruel god,”

Said the sage to the laurel,

Knowing that the words would poison the ground

Make septic the dirt and spread

The red secret to the yews.

-

Your plastic wrapper incarcerates

Six tiny flavors,

An evening rose whore who

Defecates in washing machines

(which is, apparently,

A kind of art in an of itself).

-

Do you have

The right approach? The one

To get you past the thick gothic doors

And into the chapel, the core;

Have ye your cares.

Have ye your septic solitude:

Incense, choir, and bells.



© Copyright 2008 A Rogue Decay (FictionPress ID:509254).


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