My current trend in writing is to treat it like bits of code. Debugging as time goes on (fixing spelling/grammarish issues).

Most of these poems will rest the way they are written, but given time and interest many will see a patches or 2 before it is over.

6.29.2006

Cannibalism in B minor

The sun was on it's way into the hills
Followed by blushing roses
And hanging vines
Across the carved rocks fluttered
The mothes and beetles of the day
Dropped a plump body
Into the mouths open hole
It had been there all day
Just waiting,
  In mid air
  In mid breeze
But it got plucked
It's clustering catacombs of flesh
Hidden in each of those pockets
  A smaller image of itself
Made my fingers turn bloodish with stains

To pluck the life of one so young
And to come back again and again
Every summer to see
What fruit may come to bear
Over the grave of others
In the evening
Of your
Wake
Is no sin
Is no crime
Is the way it should be
Eat
Drink
From the dirt
To hole
On and on

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