‘Neath The Above/ To Be Thrown Away

Does The Robin’s red-wing brush the pink blush of an embalmed cheek?

No, you are not in a deathful walk but trapped in the immobility of the sleeping weak

But beginneth where the end do finish and the birth caul screams from beyond

You are going to fly high within the Macro-Atom where even the most wary dare not go

If the whole of th’ heart tho’ be beaten up

With practical purpose veins do pump

Pleasure of feathering dance, no not yet, instead shake yourself free

I hide and watch how you are slowly returning back to me

As the sun’s glow cuts through slits that are tired lids

Blurry lines take purposeful shape and mind slurry is rid

I thank my feathered friend’s solar breast that shows the cold coma is thawed

And the waking dawn begins yet again if the wind’s rumours are to be believed


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