The other night
I dreamt of being slayne
A fallen gladiator
which is commonplace
as everything bevil has come from my land
Gangsters
Catholosism
This fattening food
And my thoughts
Let us not forget the red bird singing
Songs of death
to the bald baby's cry
And now this
As I reached the REM
I could feel nothing
And the black clouds cluttered until
Black was all there was to see
So in this death
That I had dreamt would I be tossed to the lions
or could I only hear them chanting
At my expense
louder and louder...

04/03/2009

Posted on 04/04/2009
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