Sunday, January 17, 2010


Something exists within the stagnant water
a charm inside the newly burnt forest
an attribute in that specific feather
the wind has broken being audacious modest

Such an inhuman feeling I brood
with every kind of decay
the darkest milk as fever's proof
opposite cheerfulness to nature's play

It must be feeding something I ignore
that may once come bathe into the light
the incubus people I strongly loathe
thus putting my soul in public sight

So pull me dead into my christening
in a distant port of my never
maybe I'll find my self comfortably sitting
inside the city of big ideas forever

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