the space concealed by confessions
always involves an ugly facial gesture
of some powerful denominator
as repulsive as god's roses
incessant odour of a painless spool
withering notion of silence
and the momentary dwellings of dwarfs
muted
steady ahead,
something propells
a custody erased by dry big hands
something powerfull but profane,
something mystertious and mundane,
some snister blister
some mortgage of a confined sister
white, free from blemishes and juice,
ripe as a flattened tire,
coming from a chardonnated sleep,
real as flesh and blood
digested as a heavenly
word,
that remains untold,
somephilia
got under arrest,
by a make believe in
an eternal hell,
ultimate question is left unanswered
the reason why
is told,
under a rotten spell.
jesus's blood stinks as bad as
muhammed's foot print.
the day it all expires,
scars withold their pain,
the rain gets scared,
time waits for the one
who would shout out loud
the impossiblity of a reframe.
celine charcoal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/muted/
