(Ave: Cannibalized one of my old poems. This is about cleanliness and forgetting. Will be interesting to see what Brian wants to do with this.)
The days are dancing
Excruciating
As fallen confetti.
Silence, a siren,
Not the old playground
It used to be.
The nights are dancing
Regenerating
Your whiteness is sweeping
Over the playground
And the old dirt roads
And trumpet trees.
Hunger
In a land
Fill
Thunder
In my hand
The days are dancing
Accelerating
A falling machete.
Violence, a tyrant,
Still the old bloodhound
It used to be.
Hunger
In a land
Fill
Thunder
In my hand
The days are dancing
Excruciating
As fallen confetti.
Silence, a siren,
Not the old playground
It used to be.
