the wrong kind of phosphorous

as a pond in a hailstorm
there is only tumult

sussing the cause
difficult

inarticulate
in presence of the topic

self
made ragged retribution

believing bloodletting
might relieve

frostbite
running along ley lines

that contact
could ease

a book
a balm

the shelter
of song

like there’s some combination of syllables
or pixels or fucking photons

that would wash new
this gangrenous condition

the unreconcilable contrast
of internal and external

at some point
the hailstorm moves on

the pond stills
and clarifies

Advertisements

About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook: facebook.com/MolyTov
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s