(no subject)

[warnerve7]

In the year of nine
became a swine
began to suspect
the hymn of time
of telling lies
through fruitful ties
of notes and words
that sank like birds
from cloudy skies,
i speak of course
of a past benign
and distant futures
begging blind
for machine parts
and lungs and hearts
that won't grow too slow
or black with grime
maternal arms wear
the wounds of time
stone in face
stunning grace
glaring pride.