Wednesday, October 23, 2013

the temple of icthus

in a cold dilema
i churn
my teeth clatter
 my thoughts burn

whosoever printed this
has form

but her subtle temper
 must recognise all
who float there

kerosene windows
stained on her
 interior intimate

a piscean choir
(in the dark)
 voicing a passion

it is rising from the deep
archaen roots
of Parnassus