I see
pyramids of reversed spirituality,
glass houses dipped in endless maroon pools
of the remains of fragile egos.
I see
the tamed crimson sun
cringing in disgust,
bowing down
to revolve around the demanding herds
moping across country club battlegrounds.
I see
myself,
weaving in and out of literary witch-hunts,
segregated from the pods of sheep
in scratchy tweed suits,
their eyes bobbing to the beat of a smaller drum.
No comments:
Post a Comment