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Dance of Death

June 10




Honeyed words pour from painted lips; shades of doubt color my mind.  Stained glass eyes look to blank walls and picture the gallery of imagination, attempting to sell it for hard currency.  Sirens sing from the throats of mute men; the screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears.  Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t.  Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant though progress is steadily made.  Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came.  Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice.  I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down.  I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.

  Float your expectations and check for daggers underneath.