Red is My RainYou, woman,are a pink rock,shadowed above,shot still with man’s urges;he who plays beautyas drunk lazy want.Sweet on smooth skin,he fiddles deliriously,mad as boiled sea.Blue diamond smells time.She storms less like lustbut sees how like wax the suit,a purple lie of sordid rust. The Oracle Speaks here.
Tag: Michael Stipe
dVerse — Poetics — Losing My Religion
lose the stones in your pockets lose the guilt that you choose lose the grit in your sprockets lose the rotgut in your booze lose the shadow of your fear lose the whine in your bellow lose the cotton in your ears lose the judgment on your fellows lose the hunger of your want lose…
Tao Talk 