untitled malaise

idle statues mimic the mournful wind.
a cherubim’s tears, a children’s prayer,

the lilac breeze grieves in silence
a malady of proportion.

in a haze, we reveal drunk palms,
reproduce lost weekends
with linen folds and acetate.

a sad space rotates in a dream.
a boiling head of crushed colors
sets the empty body in stone.

pet sounds and phonographs,
i discover myself in pastoral ghosts
a satire of sunshine.

o silver-lipped stroke
of anguish and repose;

what is the curious anthology of my Soul?

2 thoughts on “untitled malaise

  1. I quite like this although the vocabulary may be a little out of my reach and i’m not sure if i even understand it the way you intend it to be but in my head its quite beautiful. Never stop making poetry dude, you’re a natural

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