The Question to Everyone’s Answer How it decays— a legacy lost in a hundred days. Castanets sprung, I loved him too much; too much to outrun a part of me. In the thundered rays of thick ecstasy, ’found this sound—this chorus clapping—pounding me its damnedest; and, now, it stays. A misery—a son spotted—he plays black keys like eyes roamin’ the clay. Eyes opened cloud like skies wrinkled with care. Things led through days, like hot breath, burn lips bare. Wishing my Self out of there, I dare become someone else who disobeys, with purple privilege, Love’s ricochets. Hornets astir, if we are thornless, who is lonelier? Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related July 7, 2013July 8, 2013 Categories: Poetry