we all do what we do and in the end there is the madness the streets are hungry as ever the crowds burn the effigies of venerated axioms streams of spit and malice make the air humid the walruses choke their cries as the palaces burn with the stench of sad cucumbers you came here for this? to swim in rivulets spilling over with tadpoles once there were the voices but now they scratch against the empty innards of a philistines pride while she waits in the octopuses' lair and in the rows of boxes with an universe inside each where the gypsies live the birds cry out to you tonight maybe their last cries before their beaks are smashed against the rueful morning clocks the pollen in their eyes carry the blame distilled from persecuted truths fairies dance on the edges of teacups what boredom even the hour hides its excruciating nakedness the mad bull rips all the fat skirts and pays a scatological tribute to the lord of deceit and the smell of a drugged jasmine stings the skin lofty serenades of the fiddle that broke probably ruined your head and your arboreal soul i peel off eyelids of molasses and wake sleeping hyenas their pinhead laughter pierce termite infested hearts icicles of rain peel off violent skin treachery of the night and its endangered name pigeons hold on to their skeletons with moons in their beaks ninjas fall off dead in the gloominess of murky shadows bald temples with their gilded idols endure time by drinking tea searing, buzzing screaming night only the sad song sitting on your shoulder can soothe the frayed ends of its madness the edges of rooftops quiver in that song and the colour of a dark whisper splashing in your ear cries wash up against the sky and rain down on the cemetery that the child carries in his eye and the weight of the sky on his shoulders he doesn't shrug the seasons and their toxic promises a spoonful of honey and the rest is fasting only the cannibals survive on the apples of a million eyes and ants that eat into the moon fairies dance on the edges of teacups
Although some parts of this piece is very difficult ( not in terms of words but the scene that you describe )....i personally loved reading it... great lines fairies dance on the edges of tea cups.. wow keep writing ur too gud at this *thumbs up*
