2013-01-12 0000
The spinning skies all about my eyes, turn forward upon a wakeful sight.
All through the planes and realms it's spiral swam to touch our faces
Long Boiled raw in plastic casings.
The melt of cruddy waves
Kept the ruled lengths
From their ridged lines
And moved them about the Aura of the sky.
Such simple lies
In bulk composed
Cannot unearth the
Lyre below.
( The tune that rides
In our brittle bones )
Our song is sheathed
By the tune that rides
Since our ridged lengths
Have kept us
From the Spinning Skies.
