fixer
you broke something
I crawl
in the ceiling
over here under there
in the dark night
under the new moon
this church is in disrepair
there is dust on my fingers
and in my hair
my heart
it must be here
somewhere…
I slide across
the silver line
along the dark wood walls
a small box
full of unfair
two red birds flying
this church is in disrepair
there is dust on my fingers
and in my hair
my heart
it must be here
somewhere…
I wander this house
dropping feathers like flowers
i smell honeysuckle
better than fear
Calling
I want you
Trying to make you hear
Through my dreaming
every day every day
every where
this church is in disrepair
there is dust on my fingers
and in my hair
my heart
it must be here
somewhere…
I’m crazy for you
I look for your eyes
It is me seeking death
my scorpion
your poison so clear
I need that piece you put in the ceiling
don’t see how but
you took it from here
this church is in disrepair
there is dust on my fingers
and in my hair
my heart
it must be here
somewhere…
Silver Poetry 
Wow…what a wonderful read and image to end my week.
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thank you xxxx
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Poet, I’m stealing this. This church is in disrepair. That line alone, and its repetition, and the lyricism around it… so well done, my friend. You are still rocking it.
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just a channel for the divine poet that is all ha!
hey you go right ahead and steal that line and let me know when you write my story…
make me into a queen and rip me open for the universe to feast upon oh and give me a loyal cat
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That line is still in my head. I remember a similar one: you have to burn the temple down. Don’t remember where I heard it. By the way you’re already a queen, no doubt – I’m allergic to cats, but I’m anxious to please.
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maybe my divinity will cure your allergy š
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Reblogged this on rosepetalsonthepath.
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thank you x
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