Humans.
Your
knit hands scrape charity
as
only yoked minds do.
I
can be
like
you:
I
will go on red. I will stomp
on
green. My reaction – a timed light
switch.
I admire myself, a god.
I
observe, pile, demolish, wrong.
You
are wrong.
My
waves are no invitation of joint felicity,
but
eyes of tearful cruelty. Fools,
the
sun’s merry-go-round webs here.
Yellow
spears and a warm bed
do
not implore happy, but petition
DO
NOT ENTER.
Oh,
if you knew how he thrusts his heat on
me,
your minds would craft censure so you would never
have
to see real monsters work again.
How's England ModernMorena? Have you gone to Windsor Castle yet?
ReplyDeleteIt is wonderful! I have experienced a great deal since being here. I would love to share some of these moments with you when I return.
ReplyDeleteI've updated this piece. Thanks for reading.
MM :)
<3
ReplyDelete