Copper cylinder slices
hold me airtight
in glassy rounds
and hollows;
while voices clamor
in the fire-alert beyond
a rusty station-wagon...
Such that a before love and I
wait in dreadful
anticipation
of reestablished
contact of electrical
tongues.
Thoughts behind jelly
orbs, as fluid and vapours;
connecting through human pipelines.
And I am cast below
moon-pulled waters,
dragged down by weighted
convictions...
seeping bloody transfixion
as a trail to follow me
below.
[23:25|30.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter
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