Wayward Metaphors

Today was a slow crawl. I was thinking of new metaphors to coin. Yes, slush crawls in my brain. Weed dances out of my skull. Poems break out in my heart. Soul dances a calypso. Shit breaks into a song. Lullaby aches frolic in the meadow. Brook breaks out a melody. Stars cry like shit. Metaphor is shit in words. Rainbow cries at dawn. Mojo yells out a song. I long to break free of my chains. Sadness is a bondage of the heart. Shit a poem and piss a verse. Decadence of the language—you are worms in thorns and bristles. The language of the heart is a lot of shit. I am standing on nails. Sunny dude has got a heart of winter. Poems X-rayed the sky. The eyes are pooping ghosts. Dawn–you dance with verses of shit. I am a shattered epic. My body is a fucked up star. Sucking her pussy was like writing a poem. Troubles wound around me like chains. I am a fucked up cistern. The Sun in me lights my ass. Daylight is a whore breaking in. Time is a dead clock. Romanticism lives in old grave. How to live madly like a Bohemian Quixote? A cunt is a fruit of fish. I am writing the language of a whore. Booze is a bum of a thing. Freedom is a soaring bird. Irony you are a trope in chains. Metaphors are a smoker’s lungs. Time wring my neck. The whore she ditched me in farts. I look for lust everywhere. My pen is a gaze of a witch. Echo a music from a pen. Adultery I have tasted your fruit. An opera dances before my eyes.

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