Tuesday, November 1, 2011

a corpse.

through concentric circles you
find i am a bed of flowers and you are nothing to me
but tread carefully through what won't lie still
you are still moving me

caravaggio's canvas captures too little
and these cities are mine
find me your scarves and arms
and scarred guards armed, wary, cast aside

belonging, i am invincible
you are but an accessory
but still my successor surfing upon my wake
you are my home and i, waterfall

i'm here
because we are your friends
and on you i am dependent conclusion
a corpse unchosen, immortal instead