This full moon’s eve
All is dead to eye and ear
No fog obscures
No wing cuts
No wind gusts
Full lunacy.
To the fates my bosom bared
And no more in shades I hide
Take me away
I cry
Take me away
In dusk or weather
To the endless ether
But ensnared I remain
Frozen
In your gaze
Wan and waxen
My face bloodless bathed
Still frozen in your arctic gaze
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Usually less grumpy
Smells like fish, tastes like fish
Usually less grumpy
About
- Brian L
- Suburbia, Australia
Two dozen years,
One too many drinks.
Apprentice of the Hippocratic arts,
On the cusp of entering the real world.
Pleading temporary insanity, permanent inanity.
(on the mend)
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