THE STRANGE

The Strange
Where all sins meet to revolt in
The passages of lust without the guard
To curiosity of red wine and slow burns
Of the shunting reflections of night lamps
Filled with the souls of blue sailers ...

Between the pages ... here the genitals
Remove their own clothes in a calling of legs
And arms ... do genitals dream
Of the complexities
Of the life of the strange
Purpose filled fuck-tools and nothing more

Who needs the food of rented rainbows
When I always have honey-eyed fuck-flesh
In the see-through ... from my days of storm
In the furthest purpose of the knowing
Of the posterity in the bending of the coin

End