Depth By Soul
The depth of my soul extends
beyond heights of sanity.
Stranded in quicksand to knees,
I can't stand defeat.
Man, I need to find the Man to please . . .
to save myself from becoming just another catastrophe.
Even the ants can see
that it does not take pansophy
to span the sea in search
of a sacred dance for thee.
Endangered manatees
tease a man's need
to seem dangerous,
but I have seen sages
neglect pages of the cankerous:
A desperate attempt -
a desolate glimpse
into the new ages
of living in mortuaries,
rather splendidly ordinary.
We're mortified.
More than scared, see?
We're horrified whores
graced by this gangrene.
Saved by this same scene,
deranged dreams
allow the fangs to hang, we . . .
elate on dream dates at seascapes
that we made allowing us to escape
the darkness amidst this dreamscape.