Night Observatories #17

by on October 10, 2011 :: 0 comments

Ostensible emotion not to show ever and in the smoky nights not to suffer the moist caress of the wolves any more

the heavy leathers of the sick lean in the armchairs of treason and they use their feelings charcoaled by horror as matches

when the shepherds whisper their terrible secrets to the sheep’s ears, our hearts spray the greenish lights in the womb of the blasphemies growling the blissful spoken words.

editors note:

This wolf-whispered womb of words would breach and bellow blasphemies. Strike your match and lose them. – mh

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