Saturday, January 31, 2015

Pocket Ship

The night I stop believing in love
Dead, just god damn dead
Lick me with the cigarette ash
Flitter me in the carcinogenic  

Blow me into a glass bauble
Bottled ship sailing nowhere
Set fire to the mast and watch a tiny world incinerate
The hull, the cannonballs, the sailcloth for nothing

Peering out and hard ocean
Little idea of how confined this claustrophobic purview
Could ever imprint like a coating prison
Oh how this universe could operate

From within the prisons one creates
Walling out and walling in
The night I stop believing in love
Smash the bottle and begin

To form a mirror of these busted shards
The boat in cinders, flag to dust
Scatter the particles and spell the crux
Love is never wrong

The aching flux extrapolation of how long it takes
A heart to mend compared to how long it was held within
The hope of kinship in the smashing
Of one body against another

Out in these waves
Like divine pulsing organic suns
Bleeding genius in time machines
To be all that ever was

For the beat, all in the beat
To believe beyond prisons
That this universe is more than nothing

Bursting eternal in what we truly are 

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