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Satiate
A large lump finally loosens
in the darkness of mucus
as we all gather round,
The voices turn to horses
on the bottom of beaches
so look close, see them drown,
They fill with salt and brine
then quickly rewind their minds
to axe the question in twine
"Am I pretty?"
"No, you're old shoes in a new place."
No shame in the piss stained future
where the halls all hard enamel
and the floors all laid in shambles
is where I see myself, in sutures
Filled to the brim with brimstone.
Can't maintain low tones
so I speak with a volume laid prone
until I fountain this feeling into you
and kill your imagery with roses
Are you full?
From Whence
comes such imagery? It is where the mind goes and interprets and "fountains" but more, there is an artist view of an aspect, a profile, a shadow. Well said! - slc