A saintly sleep behind the lids of cherubim,
heavy as if laid in ivory.
The image of desire for the raw
and as of yet unseen made tangible;
a putto softly giggling at a world which has fallen beneath his feet.
He strattles his innocence as if it were an untamed stallion
aching for escape,
one day to return kicking and screaming to the wilderness beyond the treeline
and behind the sun.
Time, it would seem, is inevitable.
...Ride life into perfect laughter. It's the only good fight left. -Charles Bukowski
Hey my people, DADA artists, I just started writing again, and am really looking for feedback. Any kind, positive or negative. Just keep it constructive please. I have changed my writing style and am nervous I've lost my touch.
...Ride life into perfect laughter. It's the only good fight left. -Charles Bukowski
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