Beckon me
on, heart
Heart of
gold like a tank of tigers.
They rip
at my riches,
Juggernauting
and might defying,
Crashing
silently into my identity.
My heart
wrecks
Like a
ship caught on the rocks,
I’m
splintered hard on the depth defying
Gravity.
Beckon me
on blunt charity,
Keeps me
guessing
Edging
myself upon the slippery pedestal
Which has
a kind of
Buttery
texture,
As lard
has upon the frying pan.
So the tiger
tank pounds its energy
Right
through my whole heart,
As I, in
the shade of
A tree
look around
At nothing
and bare witness
To nothing
as the blood cells fight
The
tigers, rocketing their way
Through.
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