Lorenzo Buford
Walk the edges with me
as flowing semen rises from
the stagnate waters in alleys.
Beggars put their begging bowls
back into their eyes socket
to see the world of Aphrodite.
Droppings from pleasuring oneself
haunt astral creations
that are netted in a mouth
where a tree will sprout
from these corpses that will be fertilized.
Death is loved in many forms
So Death can relinquish itself
from imprisonment in time and space.
I am a shadow, a dead reflection of life
that will no longer doubt itself
As I walk the jagged edge.
The wind slices our face.
Maggots in high heels taunt me.
Now I must change the channel
from their siren song into a white noise
as I exorcize the illusion of being forever
inside, lost, dying, reborn, still birth in a woman
whose womanhood can no longer whisper my name.
NEXT: Two Horns Remembering
More Information? - please contact Lorenzo Buford.