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spring's obsidian

Posted: Tue Jan 31, 2012 7:24 pm
by angelbride
spring's obsidian
as the eclipse walks by a spiracle
blindfolded
and
aghast like in bloom

it is moon in rainbow robes
had....?
.....she
a face from a letter of deep painted rain beams
excite from her palms black as spring's obsidian
is it
you
darkness like
the cloisters in you heart
a miracle
just like cascaded ice
they can not let her see
looks into the dread of the papers
like the songs drifted
on an unknown river
she calls
the fountain of absinthes snowflakes
and hold her body like
meadows blushes
from Winters gifts
after she drank the
drink she spilled before

secret poverty

Posted: Tue Jan 31, 2012 9:13 pm
by angelbride
You are the secret


You are one
On that defends
Shaking and waking up games
Hols in the illusion
Wirelessly hidden
Twinkeling of the moonlighted crying
Do you do the same thing i do
The immortal loyalty
Taking it’s sled
By ivory coast
Crashed and lonely
The brazen they blinded the conquered daffodils
Like stars played by the suns
Eclips twisting crying angelic
Dungeons weep

You are the on stepped glove
As solution unknown
Whant you in my room
Wedded his dewed deaf tuned
Blast
Wiseness crumbles beauty
Cloudy frame
Shattered against the worry
The end of the day applauding

Re: spring's obsidian

Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2012 2:52 am
by fishfishquaileye
angelbride wrote:Bing's walking stick
as the singer walks by a sandcastle
pullover folded
and
a ghost like in moon

it is my son, a rainbow rabbi
haddock....?
.....for tea?
a faeces on a lettuce of deep planted butter beans
exit from the palms bucket as Bing's walking-sticks
is it
you
dark Bess?
I like the clamshells in you hearth
a mirror calls
just like decayed eyes
they can not see
looks into the Judge dread of the comic-papers
like the songs lifted
on an unknown driver
telephone calls
the mountain of absent mareflakes
and holed her body like
shotgun pellets
from Johhny Winter's guitar
after the plank
I think she spilled over

what the heck does this all mean? I was so hoping for a traditional obsidian poem, instead it's some damn lament to Bing Crosby's walking-stick.