You smith your final deluge
once withered by the drifted flight
angled like a pyramid,
upon the darkened night.

Then tampered with the temptress
of toughened nails n' sharpened tooth’s,
and lost all of which you bet
within the horses trotting shoes.

Heckler's house is where you come
but call it home nonetheless,
for here you hear a racket belched
from the demon's breasts.

The gate is slammed in such a ring
that only the neighbors dogs would hear,
but the beckoning of Brenda
will have you bleeding by the ear.

For every penny spun in the wishing well
equates to seven seconds of auditory hell;
but none of which will make sense,
for all the cents you spent;
because now you've broken into debt
paid by hearing Brenda's ringing bell.

03/10/2015

Posted on 03/10/2015
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