Blue-Eyed Bayou In the bedroom, I’m a Fascist dictating passion, penning stanzas which put an end to marriages. Surpassing all of its sweating lanes, mirages of men end up in my deep water, bending essence into the sublime wilderness summonsed by each eye peering into my blue bayou’s uninterest; calling to appear one soul who gives into its immunity chest tribute made to save his blindness from dawn’s light razing us to day. On the way to finer pastures, flaws slaughter slaves, freeing lust of chains. 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 June 18, 2015 Categories: Poetry