in a land where the angels sleep in the road
and mothers shout with ecstasy
a hundred more years will not corrode
I'll be in the hollows of a noisy sea
and now December is hidden
and poverty swarms
someone has poured alcohol
on my heaven in the middle of a storm
madness is my ambition
and madness is my decree
I have medicated the orchard
and bottled the trees
I'll tear at my soul like a lover
on a nail in the ground by a shoulder blade
over this flagellant I will hover
and the mark will be made
Chris Mansel
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
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