Thursday, February 10, 2011

let your poison choose you.

They said that you’re the one

but we don’t give much credence

To the voices behind the ice

Or the poison that drowns them

anymore so I don’t tell you.

They were prophets

And made a megalomaniac

Of me and now we know the crystal

They throw is not a ball, has no shape

for soothing at all.

Just a plastic vessel for their disease

The idea, the shape of emptiness

Waiting to be filled.

But still, with it I tell the future

To you now, each night.

Inherited the practice, I did

To look into the glass

Predict your sorrow

And mine

For silver



this cabin

Of gypsies, beggars

And thieves.