Love or…

Your bold starts

tricked the monsters in me

into believing

as much as you amaze,

accidentally.

Leave me your debts,

our family will bury

a good deal more.

You delivered on every hope,

dark and foreboding,

both bitter and smooth,

that’s your beauty.

Plum lipped kisses

protected my insides

from misuse and violation,

what a relief to know

the fine face of my abuse!

Out of this world

and any known galaxies,

those gallant nights saved me

in my time of need.

You restored my

lost visionary fuses,

there was a sense of safety

in falling for a feared man.

The gifts of you,

and my gifts, too,

crossed the desert on foot,

fighting for neutral passage

to the dreamscape marketplace.

Bronzed and golden,

spiked traditions,

improved lives,

or – indentured poverty?

Searching the synthetic residents

for any magic left in their lead smiles,

free-channelling the synthesis

between what you want

and having your needs met,

nothing more.

Aside from insider details,

no benefits,

this is as low as it gets.

Global policyholders

can call toll free,

but only first-class citizens

have enough sense

for the pay-phone machines.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.

rotwork

"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." - anonymous

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