Sunday, June 27, 2010

Up, Up the river flows toward rocks and mixed-drinks

focus on the uselessness,
that's where to bring the real dreams,
those dreams that walk while waking,
harbored consciously and repressed,
buried like stakes in the ground
hidden but screaming their worth, their existence
to those who tread in their path
or between them,
in that case, there was you,
within them, offering them a taste of water
to wet their tongue
a meaningless heart in lungs gesture
on multiple death beds
pontoons on the River Styx
drawing in water, beached on the shore
sinking towards truth filled graves
happily unsavored 

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