1. |
Vox Populi
02:46
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Sour words
Surprised when they leave
Like a foreign body
Unfamiliar, unfamiliar
Inhale, regret
You’re out of breath
On a precipice
Wouldn’t you love to wake up from this?
Sour thoughts
Buzz like an insect
It’s a bitter familiar
Vox populi – from inside
Mall gestalt
Lapping blood
From their own broken palms again
Inhale, regret.
You’re out of breath
On a precipice
Wouldn’t you love to wake up from this?
Resurgent claims of ignorance
An alarm with no end
It never stops
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2. |
Grains of Sleep
02:46
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Give them time to grow
They are seeds in the sand, their little arms flowing
Like a broad armada of ships
With salt tongue horizon and scoping out land
Grains of sleep pulled from the eyes
And buried in lime
Bitter shoots of grain split the stone to a grin
Gourd stalk tongue crawls
lurching through air
Myopic, blind, fingers combing through leaves
Ambition is seething
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3. |
Mendicant
03:25
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Without a way to carry the weight
No doubt the fall will be fatal
Buckling knees
Hostile sun
Pulls sweat from out of my pores
Greasing, anointing palms
Maintain this starved path.
The ropes holding aloft are suspect
Its integrity is challenged
With every misplaced step
Integrity
A trampled spine
Feathers splayed out in acceptance
Whatever I thought could be ported
Shrinks as it skips down the gorge
Expressing every stray branch
With a plume of dust
No doubt the fall will be fatal
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