Patrick Fleskes, 28 grudnia 2011
In the slow burnin' evenin’,
In the stale-air day of winter,
With the sun a-making her decent,
Due East,
A fury of orange, sunflower seed,
Mendin' softly into purple,
We make our pilgrimage.
A product of an industrial-age,
The combustion engine we use,
Coughs and heaves smoke,
(... więcej)
Patrick Fleskes, 28 grudnia 2011
Today I met the devil,
He stood beside me in complacent,
Well-adjusted dominant stance, where,
That bastard is always found,
The crossroads.
As the sun fell 'neth,
Clouds ominous enough t',
Prelude extinction.
The crosswalk yelled at my vision,
A dark binary "Don't (... więcej)
Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011
Lukewarm Night Stale Ambition
Damned ambitions. They never had a fightin’ chance. I guess society is hang up on the cessation of youthful energies ever bein' released in any sort of decent matter, ‘cause when the moon drags her sorry self across the curve of the heavens all shudders close while (... więcej)
Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011
The audience take to their seats, the ones issued remorselessly onto slips of paper, whose donating words lend passage t’ said seats taken. Over-head, projected whispers mutter useless entries in life’s pages, filler content for a childlike consciousness whom can’t stand idleness, is afraid of (... więcej)
Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011
The record player cracks white noise ‘neth saxophone utterances that can’t overtake the madness of bombs bellowin’ hellish chants. Brown dust draws down the ceilin’, the tickest of all rain, that hits the lungs like barbed wire, buildin’ cancerous coughs all around. What a hell-of-a-party! (... więcej)
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