POETRY

my heart weapon



after exasperation of moon is my blood bleached to the street
to see you in everything
as anything dreamed for some of this and the other
we as come reflections in constant eyes
we are dream of the worlds billowing
the house lost, umbrella since

in the moon efforts to shake our trace
in the sun gong in sight of the bloom
you are only half this and half of the other
as love motions afters downstream
I form as the seas wash
and time cuddles me in dark pelts
crawls in both the ways of my beautiful heart weapon
the eyes are thief of god

night in sand shivering the growth of our form
let us never take anything to be here
by the phenomena of a desperate projectors light
and time is not its own mind or ours but a restoration without history
the field mind the moment and wet field

by Tom Blood


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  1. Devin writes:

    This poem sucks.

    posted Mar 20, 12:53 PM ~